Vigilant: Cheleb'khor
by MP - Mary Contrary
Summary: A quick trip to Vulcan, retrieve the flight officer and drop off a guest. A milk run. But the crew of the Vigilant have already learned the hard way there's just no such thing. The Forge waits to test them ...and it is unforgiving.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note:_

_So this is "Cheleb-khor", the second installment in what I hope will be a series of stories centered on the crew of the Starfleet vessel NX-35 Vigilant, set in my own little Alternate Universe. _

_I want to say right up front that this is still an experimental venue for me. I do hope to tell an entertaining story along the way but I'm just feeling my way around here. For "Cheleb-khor" I'll be focusing much more on the Vigilant and her crew, leaving a whole lot of unanswered questions and completely dropped plotlines from the first installment, "Widow's Well." And I'm doing that because one thing I learned along the way was that there were just too many questions and too much plot in that monster of a story. So we're just going to prune a lot of that right off of there, even if it leaves a nasty stump._

_Again, to be clear, this is intended entirely as an experiment, with some entertainment value hopefully smeared on top to make it palatable. Following this, if I can nail down my weaknesses just a bit, I'll try my hand at something entirely different. And/or perhaps return to completely revamp this whole thing before I kick it off again._

_Still, I'm hoping whoever reads along can find "Cheleb-khor" to have been worth the effort of overlooking all that. And regardless, whether you do or not, feedback is absolutely welcomed. _

_Seriously. I throw a little party every time someone leaves a constructive review. So by all means, don't spare the red pen._

_

* * *

_

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Jupiter Station**

Having finally completed the personnel reports that had challenged her for many hours, T'Pril was in her quarters reading a book. For the purposes of personal self-education, primarily. Recreation was non-productive. But considering her non-duty related educational goals were being met and exceeded for the week, she allowed herself the indulgence of recreational enjoyment.

A minor indulgence. But one for which she suppressed a measure of guilt. No indulgence should be accepted or even recognized. That way lies destruction.

But the material was exceedingly interesting.

The door chime sounded.

"Enter."

Lieutenant Commander Henry McArthur walked through the door, PADD in hand. Before she could respond he had made directly for her bed, to lounge there with his back against the wall.

He had displayed a preference for sprawling there whenever he reported to her in her quarters, she'd noticed. As she had so far been found in all such instances at her desk, there had been nothing impeding his doing so. He typically moved too quickly for her to object in time. Until now she had allowed it. But she decided that it was time to communicate the disagreeable nature of that behavior.

"Okay, captain." He said. "We've got some extremely boring engineering reports here that I already know you're going to insist on reading. I'll skip to the end and ruin it for yah. Repairs complete."

He pulled another PADD from a breast pocket, shaking it in her direction. "And we got the word here that our new recruits are oriented to their particular level of disorientation. Detailed breakdown on just how disoriented we're talkin', too. You'll love it. Even more boring than the other.

"So…that leaves Command with no more excuses to leave us out here. You want I should just drop these at your desk on the way out?"

"That would be acceptable, commander." She nodded.

McArthur dropped the two PADDs casually on the bed instead…resulting in still further surface area being contaminated and indicating he likewise intended to linger.

"So…you heard anything?" He asked.

"I have not." She replied. "However, there seems to be a convergence of several influences making our presence at or near Earth disagreeable to our superiors. My expectation is that we will receive orders requiring our departure soon."

Henry snorted. "Well, I know everyone's got to be just dyin' to know why Starfleet clamped the lid down so tight on everything. And it's just a matter of time before the ghost stories start leakin' out. So…yeah, I reckon we ought be pushing light pretty quick."

T'Pril found the affirmation of her conclusion gratifying.

Closing her book, she swiveled her chair to face him. "The most fortunate aspect of this being that, if our next mission is chosen more with regard to the benefit of rapid departure and less to specific necessity, most probably it will be a task requiring little undertaking."

McArthur squinted for a moment before asking. "So, you figure we're lookin' at a milk run."

T'Pril eyebrow rose. "A term with a disagreeable history for this command staff. But essentially, that is my expectation."

Henry nodded. "Right. Well." He gestured, pointing at her for emphasis. "One thing I learned about those is…they ain't never. Go ahead and bank on something going wrong. Bound to be better'n the Widow and tanglin' with Rommie, if you get me though. And that 'disagreeable history' is on account of Farrell called _that _mission a milk run about a half dozen times."

T'Pril responded, confidently. "As Starfleet officers, we must remain prepared at all times for any unexpected eventuality. I merely presume that we will do so."

Henry shrugged, discouraged. "Okay. Don't come crying to me."

"An unlikely eventuality." She denied.

She realized instantly he would pounce.

"Well, you best be prepared then." Henry said, grinning.

T'Pril inclined her head slightly in his direction. "Score one, commander."

Henry chuckled. "Any word on Rodriguez, at least?"

"Nothing further." She replied. "At last report she continued to await orders for transfer to the Vulcan Medical Institute for initial examination."

"Hurry up and wait. That's about right." Henry groused. "She must be pullin' her hair out about now."

"I had hoped this would present Command the opportunity to remove us, ordering the _Vigilant _to retrieve her from Vulcan following the successful treatment of her illness."

"Looking forward to seeing the home world finally?" He inquired.

"Alpha Centauri would more accurately described as my 'home world', commander. Although I will admit to some curiosity. I have never before visited Vulcan. However, this was not what I intended to convey. I would simply prefer to retrieve our Alpha shift Flight Officer before receiving further orders for deployment."

T'Pril turned slightly away, to place her book on the desk. Which immediately brought it to his attention.

"Whatcha readin'?" He asked, curiously.

She paused before responding, attempting to formulate a strategy for deterring further interest. But then she realized her pause had certainly stoked his curiosity and there would be no reliable way of dissuading or deflecting it.

"Commander, I will express my respect for you now by offering you my advice. Were I to discuss the subject matter of this book with you, you would soon after repent of it. In short, you do not want to know."

Henry considered that for only a short moment. "Nope. Now I gotta know. What is it?"

"_Gla-tor sehlat wuh mu'yar'kur_." She replied at last.

Henry's brow immediately grew crowded. "Say what 'bout who, now?"

"_Gla-tor sehlat wuh mu'yar'kur_." She repeated. "Translated loosely, 'The Dark Green Sehlat'."

"What, a kid's book or somethin'?"

T'Pril drew a breath.

"It is a collection of Vulcan women's perspectives in relation to their first affliction of _pon'farr_. Each presenting their remembrance of the days leading up to their inceptive _plak tow _as well as what recollections they have of the time itself, with further individual opinions on the repercussions that followed. Additionally, extensive advice is offered to those who might be in waiting. The purpose of the book is to educate, aid in personal preparation and provide assistance in suppressing distress."

McArthur spent several seconds mulling it over.

"Okay, taking a stab in the dark here…pond far's the Vulcan menstrual period or somethin', right?"

She opened her mouth to respond negatively…but on further reflection realized he was more or less correct.

She raised one eyebrow in surprise. "Not precisely. But your guesstimate is remarkably accurate."

"Well, score _two _for me then. And did you just say 'guesstimate'?" He asked.

"No other word more aptly applies." She insisted.

"Hm." He replied frowning. "So…not to get all in your personal business but ain't you old enough to know all about that?"

T'Pril glared.

"Not for many decades." She replied coldly.

Henry decided he got the message on that one. "Right. So I reckon it's about time to change the subject."

"That would be eminently agreeable. And I find that an alternate subject presents itself."

"Oh? What?"_ Henry's _eyebrow rose that time, she noted.

"Commander, are you aware that Vulcan females have a significantly higher olfactory acuity than human females?"

"You mean they got sharper noses? Yeah, I heard as much." He nodded.

"Has it occurred to you then that, though I am only half-Vulcan, my olfactory acuity would nonetheless be measurably superior to the average human's?"

Henry frowned, already irritated. "Well, I figured you had a pretty good nose on yer face, if that's what yer askin'. What's yer point?"

"As it happens, my olfactory sense is acute enough that I can detect human presence in an area up to several hours following."

Now Henry was getting down right grumpy. "If yer suggestin' we're stinkin' up the ship just say so, cap'n."

"That is not my suggestion. The ship itself carries a background scent of human but I have always been well acclimated to that general odor, growing up amongst many, even in my own household. It is not offensive and, in fact, is generally comforting. However, individual scents in certain specific venues can be…perturbing."

"Like what?" He frowned.

"My bed." She replied simply. "Your scent lingers for many hours. As you typically report to me here prior to my period of rest it often carries over into that time, requiring cleaning and a change of bedding in each instance before I am able to sleep there."

Henry McArthur, as predicted, immediately blushed bright red and began to stammer. It required in excess of three minutes before T'Pril could convince him that it was, relatively, a minor matter. But she was confident he would not recline there again when next he visited.

Score one for her.

**********

**Starfleet Flight Training Platform, **_**Outreach**_

**Vulcan Orbit**

_Eagle One _tore through the nebula, venting plasma from her port nacelle. She was .4 impulse, current best speed, but she _had _to shake the Klingon Raptor pursuing her. Any minute that nacelle would blow and they'd be in serious trouble…

But 1k more and Marisa would shake their sensor lock…

_Come on, Tactical…_

"Propulsion, 62%. " Engineering droned.

"Hull polarization, 12%." Tactical reported, immediately after.

_Come on, come on…come on, already!_

"Target has negative lock." Announced the Tactical Officer.

Marisa had _Eagle One _climbing before Tactical had finished reporting, sliding to port slightly, for one full second, before spinning sharply around to starboard, saucer section down one quarter angle.

"Open turn to port." The captain ordered blandly.

_Too late, captain. Estupido, try to keep up!_

Full impulse now…at a pathetic .3...the Raptor raced by beneath, seeking her, spotting her again…

"Target has weapons lock." Tactical reported.

_Eagle One _was _above _them looking down, flashing over before they could react, breaking their lock before they could fire…

_Clear shot, tactical! Give them everything you've got!_

"Hard to port." Ordered the captain. Marisa ignored the order.

The Raptor flashed past them beneath them and _Eagle One _swooped down into their wake. Tactical hadn't fired. _Now _she turned hard to port.

"_Pinche culero!" _Marisa cried, kicking her console. The tactical officer _sucked!_

Off port, 2,200 meters, the Raptor banked hard port as well. And now they circled one another, at range.

"Maintain turn, match speed." The captain announced.

One phase cannon fired, their only remaining cannon, port forward. It slid briefly along the Raptor's length before skewing up and away. Two golden torpedoes arched out from _Eagle One_, seeking the Raptor's engine…impacting with a flash…

"Target shields, 24%." Relayed Tactical.

"Target propulsion, 34%." Science noted.

And the Raptor slid into exactly the turn Marisa had known they would. The one she damned near disobeyed orders _again _to try to avoid. The Klingon Raptor dropped speed and spun to port on her axis, breaking their lock and lighting up _Eagle One _with…

"Target has weapons lock." Reported Tactical.

"_Hijo de tu puta madre_!" Marisa cried.

"Incoming." Science noted calmly.

_Screw this._

_Eagle One _mirrored the Raptor's maneuver instantly. Full reverse, while banking hard to port, then .3 impulse head on. One enemy torpedo racing by off to their starboard, the other…

"Penetration. Decompression alert, deck F forward." Engineering announced.

_The armory…_

"Hull negative. Torpedo bay disabled." Tactical reported.

_Eagle One _lashed out weakly, one red beam lightly squarely on the incoming Raptor's fore. There would be no torpedoes to follow up on the hit.

"Hard to starboard, disengage." The captain ordered.

"Target shields, 13%." Tactical reported.

Growling, Marisa overrode safeties and nudged the ship past .4 impulse…head on…2,500 meters…

"Hard to starboard, disengage." The captain repeated.

The Raptor deviated slightly, reducing speed, attempting an open turn to starboard. Marisa compensated, _Eagle One _bearing down on her enemy. 1,200 meters. Two torpedoes leapt from the Raptor's forward bay.

"Incoming." Science confirmed.

"Hard to starboard, disengage." The captain ordered again.

800 meters.

A beam of light, playing across the console display. Klingon disruptor, point blank. Targeting the bridge.

Marisa's console went black for a moment, before the final results were displayed.

"Simulation complete." The computer reported. "Time: 15 minutes and 23 seconds. Average response time: 8.2 seconds. Response ranking: Poor. _Eagle One _destroyed. Target Raptor destroyed."

Marisa glared at the screen for a moment. Then kicked the console again, grumbling. Eight second response time. Well, that's what you get when you don't _respond, _because the orders are _crap_…

"Ensign Rodriguez."

Marisa startled. Lieutenant Kramer, the Simulations Officer, standing over her shoulder. _Mierda_. The deck was supposed to be _deserted _at this hour! She'd thought she had the room all to herself! She was on her feet, at attention, facing the glowering man before he could bark the order.

He waited, staring her down for a moment.

"I think I just lost a year of my life." He announced at last. "That's got to be the most grab ass display of frenzied self-copulation I've ever seen. Are we certain you're a flight officer?"

Marisa replied promptly. "Yes, sir!"

"You didn't get lost on your way to the rec-room, did you? Wander in here by mistake?"

"No, sir!"

"Because you must think you're playing around in the games room."

"No, sir. I…"

"I'd ask you to explain just what the hell you were trying to yank out of your fifth point of contact but I'm afraid I might lose the accumulated knowledge that Starfleet has bestowed upon me as a result. And then where would we be?"

"Sir, I…"

"Maybe I should just step down and let you take over my class. Perhaps you can explain to the green-ears the tactical benefits of humping a Klingon Raptor like that. Because it's beyond my ability to ascertain."

'Green-ears'. A term coined by the training officers, referring to their Vulcan flight students. It was how they'd learned to recognize when a trainee had been successfully…'reoriented'. Their ears would turn green.

Marisa didn't bother responding, clenching her jaw instead. Lieutenant Kramer glared a bit longer.

"How about you get the hell off my simulations deck, ensign?"

"Yes, _sir_!"

Marisa left. Quickly. Her chin finally starting to quiver as she lost the control she'd been grasping at desperately the whole while. She _hated _that. But every time a superior officer got in her face…she caved.

Outside the Simulations Room she found that Spetok was waiting for her, already turned to face the wall in deference to the emotional display she must represent.

Right. She forgot. She'd promised to let him pick her brain at lunch today.

She took advantage of his very appropriate Vulcan behavior to take a few deep breaths and calm herself a little before greeting him.

**********

Marisa stabbed the _sazh-pesik _viciously, taking another bite. She was _still _angry. _I've _got five years flight experience. How about _you_, Mister Simulations Officer? _I've _got a Romulan Bird of Prey notched on _my _wing. How about _you_, Mister Flight Officer Wannabe? _Estupido _trainers. This whole platform was a joke. This whole _situation _was a joke. Almost every Vulcan that passed through here had already been through compulsory military service at some point or other. And since they were all flight, that meant they were already trained flight _officers_.

Okay, trained to Vulcan systems anyway. So, yeah, some familiarity with these operating systems made sense if they ever planned to go Starfleet. Or even planned to work alongside Starfleet vessels. But that also meant half the so-called students here were mostly experienced flight officers who pulled some strings to get in here ahead of their competitors. Get a little hands on experience with Starfleet equipment and tactics before going right back to the Vulcan Fleet. Nice little footnote on your fleet jacket to prop up your chances at promotion.

With another stab at the dark brown vegetables it occurred to her…these aren't half bad. She'd kind of expected Vulcan food to all be bland and tasteless. This was actually pretty good. Casting a glance around the room at the Vulcans crowding the place, she had to admit there was probably more to these people than she'd always assumed.

Of course, at that she realized every one of the two dozen Vulcans in the mess hall were unusually reserved and quiet today. They always were at lunch, she'd found out quickly enough. They hardly talked _at all _when they ate. But it was even more pronounced at the moment. Like they were all trying really hard not to draw attention to themselves…

_Oh. _

Marisa closed her eyes, grimacing.

"They're waiting for me to stab you, aren't they?" She asked the Vulcan seated across from her.

Spetok replied calmly. "You appear to be…extremely unsettled."

She just wasn't ever going to get used to working with Vulcans. And with that she decided she'd had enough.

"You know, I can't imagine why I might be unsettled." She grumbled fiercely, stabbing at her plate again. "I'm dying of Belts-Karnes Syndrome here. Probably going to die on Vulcan when they figure out this experimental treatment of their's doesn't work on humans…"

She dropped her fork sharply then and laced her fingers tightly together over her plate, glaring across at Spetok.

"And while I'm waiting for _that_, I have to wait _here_. With a bunch of Vulcans who are all scared to death of me, waiting for me to either have sex on the table tops or run around stabbing people in the face. And whichever way I decide to go I'll have a bunch of _pendejo _flight instructors yelling at me for doing it all wrong. What have I got to be unsettled about?"

Spetok considered his options carefully before replying.

"There is a meditation room available, if you require. I will agree to show you…"

With a huff Marisa broke him off, snatching up her fork again. "I don't need to meditate. I need have sex on a table top somewhere. Or stab somebody in the face."

After a moment's consideration, he decided to try another approach. "That would be…"

"You want me to start with you, Spetok?" Marisa warned, glaring.

Spetok wisely refrained from replying further.


	2. Chapter 2

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Jupiter Station**

Ensign Jennifer West had completed her portion of the "super-secret project" and was dressing to depart her quarters, having turned the computer desk over to a very eager young Nikki. With a quick brush of her hair she was ready to go make her way around to the Biological Science Labs and check up on her new recruit there. After that, Alpha shift bridge duty. And hopefully then they'd finally be getting orders for deployment.

The last thing she had heard was that Ensign Summers, the Communications Officer, was inbound from Earth and due to arrive any minute. Which, according to Commander McArthur, was a good indication orders were coming down the pipe, considering the psych department had finally cut her loose. They didn't like to cut anyone loose until they absolutely had to, apparently. She tried not to worry excessively about what effect the inevitable notation on Summers' jacket would have on her career. She was an exceptional comm officer, after all. With any luck she'd be able to overcome the stigma…eventually. That thought did not make her very happy, though. It could have happened to any of them back at Widow's Well. She'd come close more than once to haring out.

Just one of the billion little instances in which the universe proved that it didn't care much about playing fair, she supposed.

"Okay, Nikki honey. I'm going to work." She called, leaning around the short wall dividing her bathroom area from her main quarters. Nikki, she saw, was at the computer, completely engrossed.

"Be good, stay out of trouble and all that, alright?"

"Uh huh." Said Nikki, distractedly.

"I don't see an 'uh huh' in here anywhere." She said, coming around.

"Yes, ma'am." Nikki said, correcting herself.

Jenny grinned. "Good girl." Sliding her arm around for half-hug from behind, she planted a few smooches atop Nikki cute, little blonde head while she played.

"What are you playing, honey?" She asked. All she could see was some weird, cartoonish creature cavorting about in a field of…was that corn?

"Kitty Cat Clover's Colonial Adventure." Nikki replied, already focused again. Over Nikki's shoulder Jenny could see her big, pink…cat?…running about, extremely busy planting precise rows of…something before the…whatever _else _could steal them all.

"That's a multi-player game, isn't it Nikki?" She observed.

"Uh huh…I mean, yes, ma'am." Nikki said.

"You know once we break dock and get out to space again you won't be able to play, right?"

"I can. I downloaded it." Said Nikki, brightly. "'Cause then you can still play when you're at warp and then you can play with other people again when you get somewhere."

"Is this just a Solar thing or is it intersystem?" Jenny asked.

"No, ma'am. It's all over."

"Huh. Okay, then. Have fun and see you about 1300." With that one last smooch on the head before she made for the door.

"'Kay." Nikki mumbled, already lost in her adventure again. Jenny smiled and shook her head as she left.

Outside, Jenny headed to Biological. It was actually quicker cutting through the shuttle bay rather than the maze of crew corridors to the fore, so she naturally headed in that direction. And so she came up on Lieutenant Commander McArthur and none other than Ensign Summers herself coming from the bay.

"Hey!" She cried. "Summers!"

She bounded over immediately to greet the communications officer, who already had both arms and a big grin out to receive her. The two hugged tightly for a moment.

"When did you get back?" Jenny grinned, before stepping back a bit.

"I just stepped off the shuttle. _Just _in time for duty, of course." Summers said, smiling back, still holding Jenny's arm with one hand. Jenny noticed then that Summers _did _have her duffel in the other, after all.

"Oh, wow. We missed you!" Jenny gushed. "I'm so glad you're back!"

"Alright now, ladies." Said McArthur, interrupted gruffly. "This ain't a damned social gatherin'. Let's get the gabbin' done."

"Right. Yes, sir." Jenny said quickly, letting go of the comm officer and putting on a somewhat more professional air. Summers did the same, though she rolled her eyes in the process…out of sight of McArthur, of course.

"West." McArthur grumped. "You got that little project up and ready yet?"

"Oh. Yes, sir." She said, with a mischievous grin. "We're ready. Oh! And I need to fill Summers in on that. She'll be taking it from here, right, sir?"

"That's right." McArthur nodded. "But it can wait until Alpha shift. In fact, I'll want you on the deck one quarter early to get Summers caught up."

"What project?" Summers asked, curiously.

"'Project Bird'." McArthur answered, heading Jenny off before she could spill the beans. "And that's all you need to know right now. Let's get you squared away and up on the bridge." He jerked one thumb down the corridor.

"Well." Jenny said, with a shrug. "You heard him. So I guess we'll go over it on Alpha." Turning to McArthur she said. "I'm heading to Biological, sir. Check on the new…"

"Nope." He interrupted. "You're heading to deck F Main Weapons Locker and signing yourself out a pistol and rifle."

Jenny blinked. "Uh, sir?"

"Then you're off for Recreation to qualify on both with Ensign Rexas."

"Oh, sir. I'm already qualified…"

"Well, not with him you ain't." McArthur grumbled. "He's evaluating all crew this week and since I don't have issue with that, that's what you're doin'. Now get to it. You're last on the list and I want that done before we have to roll out."

**********

In the Recreation Area, off the Gymnasium, Jenny found P'Trell making notations on a PADD. Ensign Carrols was hefting a phase rifle past her to leave. Apparently she'd arrived just in time for her own evaluation. Along the port wall she couldn't help but notice a large, grey partition of some sort had been hung tightly, with a head-sized emitter on a tripod next to P'Trell.

"Rexas, what's going on?" She asked.

"Personal weapons evaluations." He replied shortly, still making notes.

_Well, obviously. _

"I mean, why are we being evaluated." She said, with just a bit of grump added. "We should all be up to date already."

That brought Rexas' head up at least. "As Security Chief, I need to see what this crew can do." He said. "With my own antennae." He added with a slight smile.

_Huh. Well, let's show off a bit then. _

"So can you really perceive to a twentieth of a gravity with those?" She smiled.

P'Trell chuckled quickly. "Ha! I _thought _that was an Andorian biology text I saw on your screen on the bridge."

_Crap. Oops._

"No." He continued. "Some few can, most can't. And the Aenar have some kind of telepathic reception through theirs, as I understand. With my particular ethnicity, as with most, they more or less function like your inner ear."

Jenny placed her weapons on the table set up nearby while Rexas watched. She really wanted to deflect to some other topic, though. But…

"More or less?" She asked.

_Me and my big dumb mouth._

"We'll start with the phase pistol." He said, ignoring the question. "Let me see you break it down, then check the cell and replace it as well."

Jenny immediately got to work. Old hands at that, nothing new. She had the weapon disassembled quickly, checking the charge and so forth. She didn't try to hurry especially. She done it a thousand times before. But it did present her the opportunity to change the subject while she worked.

"So why are we being checked out on the plasma pulse rifle?" She asked, her hands still busy. "Not a requirement for anyone who isn't cross-trained to security."

"_You _are cross-trained for security." Rexas pointed out. "All the bridge crew are."

"Carrols isn't." She pointed out right back.

Done. She had the pistol offered for inspection.

"Nine seconds." Said Rexas, impressed. "That's very good."

Handing the weapon back to her once he'd finished with it, he continued. "Not surprising, though. I've read your jackets, of course. Both of them. Plasma pulse rifle now."

Jenny had the weapon in hand quickly, breaking it down as well. This time she concentrated a bit. Let's see if we can top nine seconds on the _rifle_. Not that she was trying to _impress _him or anything.

"So why are you wasting away in Science, West?" Rexas asked. "You should be under me."

_Wow. Okay. Let's not get distracted by __that__ visual image just now._

"Uh…" Jenny replied, fumbling briefly. "Always had an interest in science. MACO runs in the family, though. But when my father died, well, I'm not really sure. I guess it just didn't interest me anymore. No offense but killing things for a living never really caught on with me."

With that she had the rifle reassembled and up for inspection. Rexas took the weapon in hand, examining it closely.

"Twelve seconds." He said, inspecting the rifle. "So. No plans to assassinate me and take over my department? Your sudden interest in Andorian biology had me concerned."

Handing the rifle back with a grin, he added. "I suppose I can sleep safe tonight."

_No, not quite what we're planning there, blue boy._

"Uh, no. Just curious." She said, smiling lightly.

"Now weapons handling, stance and target discrimination." He said, gesturing at the emitter elevated off floor to his right.

"This will project a simple image on the screen." He explained. "The colored circles are your targets. Black and white circles are not. Colored circles will appear one at a time, a random color each time, sometimes alternating in the process. Several other circles will appear as well, either black, white or both. All will move randomly and interpose randomly. Demerits to your score for strikes on either black or white."

"Set your weapon to stun or Commander McArthur may regret authorizing this evaluation. We'll begin when you're ready."

After several minutes, with both pistol and rifle, Jenny was almost beginning to sweat. Rexas' little targeting practice set up was a real monster. She'd made twelve strikes on white and black in total already. And she was _good_.

"Time." Rexas announced at last.

"Whew." Said Jenny, lowering the rifle.

"A challenge, Ensign West?" He was grinning _again_, dammit.

"I would say so." She replied, almost out of breath. "Where'd you get this? I assumed we'd be practicing on the MACO targets."

"I brought it with me." He replied. "It's the system we used on the _Sharev_. Not quite as…'state of the art' as the MACO system. But I find it superior nonetheless."

"I'd say." Jenny agreed. "So they just let you bring that with you? I would assume…"

"No." He snorted. "I stole it, of course."

Jenny waited for a moment…then gawked when she realized he was serious.

"You _stole _it?" She asked, disbelieving.

"As you were about to suggest, they wouldn't simply allow me to _have _it." Rexas turned to deactivate the display, unconcerned.

"But…" Jenny rushed. "Aren't you going to get into some kind of _trouble _or something?"

At that Rexas grinned back at her for a moment. "Only if you tell."

_Ooooh, like that, huh?_

"And how do you know I _won't_?"

"Because you now have _leverage_, Ensign West." Rexas said, turning from the emitter with a smile.

Jenny regarded him at that, grinning right back. "And what am I supposed to do with _leverage_, Ensign P'Trell?"

"Why, what one _does _with leverage." Rexas, replied, as if it were perfectly obvious. "Whatever you desire." And with that he leaned casually on the table.

_Ho-lee crap. Is he flirting with me?_

Before she could recover, he had moved on smoothly. "Your score with the phase pistol was eighty-two. With the pulse rifle, eighty-eight. You might be interested to know, Ensign West, that you outscored _me _with the phase pistol."

Jenny was taken aback at that. "Really?"

"You did. And my own score with the rifle was superior by only nine points." Rexas nodded fully. "I am very impressed. You must have trained with these weapons quite often at your West Point Academy."

_Whoa. 'Only' nine points? That would be ninety-seven._

"Uh, some." Jenny answered, shaking her head. "We only had to qualify but I followed up with it a little. Mostly shooting was just something of a hobby in my family. I suppose it stuck with me."

"And I am very gratified that it has." He said. "I wish the rest of the crew was as skilled. They are not terrible, of course. But I will have to institute a training regimen to make them sharp."

Jenny smirked. "Well, that's probably not going to be popular. Most of our crew are science geeks like me."

"Unfortunately, I have found the enemies one encounters in space don't often discriminate." Rexas said with regret.

Jenny nodded. Yes, she'd kind of noticed that.

"So. I believe our shift begins in eighteen minutes." Rexas said abruptly. "I will have to stow this equipment first. _You_, I believe, have some form of secret project that no one will explain to me. Commander McArthur asked that I remind you of that when you finished here."

Jenny nodded again. "Right. I have to get Summers caught up on that. I had better go."

Rexas nodded, offering her the two weapons. "Be sure you sign them back in. As you know, our captain is particular about that."

Jenny grinned at that and hiked for the exit. She's was going to be a bit late, considering McArthur's orders, but figured she had an excuse. It wasn't _her _idea to get evaluated just now, after all.

"Oh. Ensign West." Called Rexas.

Jenny stopped at the door to look back.

Loading his training equipment, he called out casually. "If you have any further curiosity about Andorian biology, you need only ask." Looking over at her, with that damned wicked grin of his. "After all, you have leverage now. So of course I must comply."

"Right." She called back, as suggestively as she could manage. "I'll do just that."

But she barely made it through the hatch without stumbling a bit.

**********

In her quarters T'Pril moved through her normal morning ritual, preparing for Alpha shift command on the bridge. A quick check in the bathroom mirror confirmed a subtle overall appearance, attractive enough to command peripheral attention but no so much as to prove distracting. Her uniform tucked and fastened in accordance with Starfleet dress regulation, she was prepared. With a quick left face and step she entered her main quarters to retrieve the current ship status data which she intended to review with the bridge staff at the start of shift.

Her console chimed.

Moving to sit there she noticed the incoming communication wasn't tagged. She would have to speak with the Communications Officer about proper procedure for forwarding personal communiqués. But before she could activate the console…it activated itself.

She didn't recognize the man on the screen but she recognized the black uniform. And as this wasn't the man she had expected to contact her, the conclusion was obvious.

"You are Harnes." She said, before he could speak.

He paused at that, taken a little off guard. "That's right. You're pretty quick, Miss T'Pril. Or should I say, Captain Tucker? Congratulations, by the way."

"If Troy did not make contact then his superior would be forced to act in his stead." T'Pril explained. "It was the logical conclusion. Your resources are limited. Why has Troy not made contact?"

Another pause from Harnes. "Well, there's a little trouble on that front. I'm sure you've seen the news feeds from Alpha Centauri?"

"I have. My family continues to find itself at the center of profound events." T'Pril noted, dispassionately.

Harnes chuckled. "That's putting it mildly. At present agent Troy is a guest at your father's little security firm on the Tucker compound. So I'm afraid he's unavailable."

That brought T'Pril's eyebrow to attention. "And how did this occur?"

"You haven't spoken with your family lately then, I take it?"

That was not something T'Pril intended to discuss openly. And certainly not with _this _man.

"This is not an area of consequence to you." She said flatly.

He nodded. "Alright, then. In that case I'm sure you'll understand if I just offer my assurances that the matter is being handled."

At her glare he continued quickly. "No need for concern." He assured. "We have more…diplomatic avenues to pursue there. Your father will come around and Troy will be back at work soon enough."

'_Diplomatic' avenues? In regards to her father? Unlikely._

"Very well." She conceded. "If you are confident you can intervene with my family effectively…then we will see. Why have you called?"

Harnes nodded, all business now. "In a few minutes you'll be receiving orders from Admiral Archer, Starfleet Command. You'll be taking on a…guest. And his entourage. For transport to Vulcan. Command figures, right enough, that there's no point in you waiting around for Rodriguez to make her way back on a commercial vessel or hitch a ride on the next Starfleet ship that happens by. This justifies the expense of sending the _Vigilant _out to pick her up directly, which of course they're more than happy for you to do. Leave the system, I mean. Two birds with one stone."

"You have arranged this escort then?"

"Not directly." Harnes shrugged. "We simply arranged it so that the _Vigilant _was the logical choice. If you'll pardon the expression."

"Of course. It is accurate." She nodded. "What then about this guest is of interest to your organization?"

"Not a thing. Couldn't care less. Some opera singer named Teval. But we need _you _at Vulcan."

She connected the dots quickly. "You arranged for Rodriguez to be selected to participate in the experimental program at the Vulcan Medical Institute."

He nodded. "That's right. You need your flight officer, Teval needs to get to Vulcan and Starfleet wants you out of sight and out of mind."

"Then I have questions concerning Rodriguez, her illness and your interest in her."

"Nothing to be said there." Harnes said, suddenly sober. "So let's just skip to the part where I tell you what you're going to be doing for us."

T'Pril stared for a moment before replying. "I am not an agent in your organization, Mr. Harnes. I am an officer of Starfleet. If you presume…"

"I'm not issuing you an order, T'Pril." He interrupted. "I'm simply telling you what you're going to be doing. Not quite the same thing, as I'm sure you'll see. So I have your attention then?"

After a moment, she nodded. Very well. We will see where this leads.

"Good." Harnes responded. "For four months now we've been tracking something new in the Romulan intel arena. Some new kind of encryption system. It's been popping up all over, a dozen different places. The latest thing, apparently."

That Section 31 had been monitoring Romulan communications at all was surprising enough. But the reference to 'dozens of places' was almost disturbing.

"It's nothing we can't handle, of course." Harnes assured. "Romulan technology is…well, woefully lacking in some areas. We could have it cracked in six months. In fact, we'll probably have someone familiar with the system in hand in four. But that would be four months spent scratching our heads unnecessarily when there are other paths we can take."

"I assume this other path references the _Vigilant _in some manner?" She guessed.

"Exactly right." He affirmed. "There's a certain sympathizer working on Vulcan. Naturally enough he works at the Vulcan Medical Institute, which makes him very valuable for…well, let's just say he's very valuable to the Romulan effort in a particular way and leave it that. So of course he was one of the first on the list to make use of the new system."

She found the direction the conversation seemed to be heading…rather disagreeable.

"You require our aid in securing this traitor then." She said. "That is not an area…"

"Not quite." Harnes interrupted. "As it happens he's useful to us as well, even if he doesn't know it. No, we want that encryption system. So you're going to get it for us."

Again T'Pril's eye brow rose to attention. "I am not an intelligence operative. And I'm certain both your organization and the V'Shar have trained agents available for this task."

Harnes grimaced a bit at that. "Well, we haven't been quite as successful in infiltrating Vulcan as the Romulans have, unfortunately. Especially in the last three decades. Intel security on Vulcan is tight as a drum. Romulans being the exception, it would seem. Which brings up some other points."

"To be frank, we don't trust our contacts in the V'Shar. They've been extremely helpful in all areas, don't misunderstand…_except _cleaning up their own backyard. Now, I can't say that I blame them. We're not about to invite Vulcan operatives to run rampant all over the Earth, either. But even after all this time they've still got Romulans agents and sympathizers stationed in every other back alley on their planet. So we need one of our own on the ground on this one."

T'Pril decided at last that it was time to get to the point.

"So you have an agent you intend for us to deliver in order to infiltrate and secure this encryption system, then?" She asked.

Harnes glowered slightly. "You seem to be having trouble following the conversation, T'Pril. We do have an agent you'll be delivering. _You_."

T'Pril stared back. "As I have said, I am not an agent of your…"

"Well, for now you are." Harnes insisted. "Your our asset on the ground on this one. You'll be on site and in the open, with only the barest intel coverage in the process. You can have a scan of the system in hand in under five minutes and be back on _Vigilant _in thirty. They won't know what hit them. And our friends in the V'Shar won't fail to notice we utilized _you _as an asset, either. Which we're certain will prompt a bit more cooperation in some other areas."

This was all becoming somewhat confusing, T'Pril had to admit. The machinations of Section 31, the V'Shar, the Romulans…were she less disciplined she might be tempted to frown.

"This entire conversation then seems unproductive to me." She said. "As previously noted, I am an officer of Starfleet. I am neither required nor compelled to assist you in this operation. In point of fact, it would behoove me to report this matter promptly to Starfleet Intelligence."

Harnes shrugged. "You won't. And you'll do what is required here. Because otherwise we'll be blind for the next few months. Completely unacceptable, as I'm sure you'll agree. Now, you can report this matter to Starfleet Intel but you and I both know that won't come to anything. Certainly it won't secure that system. And Starfleet isn't even aware of the Romulan comm traffic going on right over their own heads."

Harnes stared for a moment, letting that sink in a bit.

"It's very simple, T'Pril. You're a logical person. Follow the logic."

Before she could respond, Harnes nodded grimly. "You'll receive orders from Starfleet Command in a moment. Details of this mission are encoded in the attached supply manifest."

He tapped the console before him and her screen went blank.

T'Pril stared at the screen for a moment, reexamining the conversation. Noting the various hints and references that had undoubtedly been made quite purposefully. As well as everything that hadn't been said. If nothing else, she could certainly understand now the deep, abiding disdain her father had expressed for organizations such as Section 31 in the past. She found she was beginning to develop a similar opinion herself.

"_Bridge to Captain."_

Ensign Summers. Apparently she had not only arrived as expected but, T'Pril was satisfied to note, had already reported for duty. She leaned over, activating the comm.

"Captain, go ahead."

"_I'm sorry, Captain. I had a little trouble getting through to your console for a moment. I have an incoming transmission from Admiral Archer. Routing to you now."_

"Very well, Summers. Contact Commander McArthur and inform him that he is to prepare to break dock."

"_Understood, Captain."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Starfleet Flight Training Platform, **_**Outreach**_

**Vulcan Orbit**

Marisa concentrated on relaxing the muscles in her feet. She'd already been over those twice already and coming back around again she found she'd tensed up a bit while distracted elsewhere. It was proving to be a little frustrating. Right up front she'd found the difficult part was overcoming the impulse to _force _the muscles of her body to relax instead of just _letting _them. But everything in her insisted on controlling it. Letting go just really wasn't her thing.

"What change have you noted overall to this point?" Spetok asked. Though her eyes were closed, Marisa knew he was seated across her, in an identical position.

"Well…" She said after a moment. "I guess I'm a little more relaxed. I don't know how I'm supposed to get all my muscles loose at the same time, though."

"This will come in time, with practice." He assured. "Have you noted a change in aggression during this time?"

Marisa frowned at that. She wasn't _aggressive_, dammit.

"Yeah, I guess." She said. "But that's just from sitting around _relaxing_. I don't see how this is such a big deal with you guys."

"There is significantly more to the way of Surak than this." Spetok explained. "This is simply the first page in the book you are reading. The first step on a journey you have undertaken. In time it would become only one foundation, among many."

Well, she wasn't sure she wanted to get into all _that_. She'd only agreed to go along with this because she was _bored_. It was taking them _for-damned-ever _to get around to her. Did the Vulcan Medical Institute forget she was even here or something?

"I can sense that you are beginning to become unsettled." Spetok intoned, calmly. "Continue breathing and relaxing, both overall and with focus upon the muscles of your feet. Clear your mind of anything else that would distract from this. Then continue on along your body until you have released."

Marisa took a deep breath and let go again. Back to those feet. Relax-a-rama. Relaxed is me. I am _el sorprender Relax-o_.

"So what's the point of this then?" She asked. "If it's all about relaxing, why don't you guys just take a nap or something?"

"The mind and the body are intrinsically connected." Spotek explained. "Even a state of mild tension in the muscles of the body forces communication with the mind. By removing this obstacle, we remove a significant portion of distraction from the conscious mind. Simultaneous to this, we allow the body an opportunity to expel the excess stress that has inevitably accumulated."

Marisa couldn't feel her feet anymore, which meant she had that area nailed down again. So she moved on to her legs. Where she found her damned calves had insisted on tensing up to make sure the floor was still there. _Estupido _legs muscles…

"So it's about stress management then." She said. She was surprised a little to find herself almost murmuring. Damn, she _was _getting all relaxed.

"This is an important element." Spetok agreed. "Stress is primarily a result of the body preparing to act. As I am sure is true for humans as well, this is most often the result of our mind identifying more dangers and requirements than actually exist. And in most cases assigning greater levels of threat and need than individual situations truly represent. For that, later disciplines exist to aid in training our minds to assess and respond more efficiently. For now, however, learning to reduce excess stress is the prerequisite."

By then Marisa, following along almost vaguely with the conversation, had reached her chest and shoulders. There she'd had a bit more luck. Overall, she'd almost lost touch with her whole body. She was beginning to feel kind of like a head floating around on a cloud or something.

Felt pretty good. _Weird_, but good.

"Well, I don't know if I'll have time to go all Vulcan, Spetok." She murmured. And yeah, she was murmuring alright. "We stay a little busy on a starship."

Of course, he did know. Spetok, she was surprised to find, was actually a ship commander. As she had intuited earlier, he'd had some family member or other in Space Central pull some strings to get him in here. So he could get a good first hand look at how Starfleet did things.

"I do not think that will be necessary." Spetok assured. "In fact, I think many of the disciplines would be counter-productive. Humans are not meant for the way of Surak. Or…perhaps it would be better to say, the way of Surak was not meant for humans. For you, I believe simple stress management, as you have said, will prove more beneficial."

"Mmhm." Marisa replied. That's about all she could muster.

"However, once you have mastered this technique, you should educate yourself on clearing the mind while in this state." He continued. "This will allow you to remain centered for longer following simple meditation. And so this will carry over into your duties and allow your mind to more accurately assess your environment."

Marisa didn't answer. She was back to her head again and that one, as Spetok had warned her, was the tough one. Relaxing your _head _was a real _puta_.

"You are doing well. Continue in this manner." Spetok advised. His voice was calm and soothing. As so Marisa floated.

For several minutes she floated, only breathing. Once or twice her mind attempted to steer her back to her body, just in case something needed to be done. But she ignored the impulse…and just floated for a little while.

For a time, all was peace...

"_Ensign Marisa Roriguez, report to debarkation main office."_

At first it didn't matter. That was some other Marisa Rodriguez, in some other universe. Here, she was just floaty Marisa…calm and peaceful, enjoying the…

Oh. Wait. _Meirda_, that _did _matter.

Marisa opened her eyes, taking a deep breath. She found Spetok still sitting calmly, waiting just a couple of meters away on the meditation room floor.

She sighed. "Well, that's me."

"Indeed. I assume you will soon receive orders to depart for the Medical Institute." Spetok noted.

"Yeah." She said, attempting to get up. And at first she was surprised to find her body didn't want to. It seemed to have really gotten on board with the floaty, relaxy thing. Once on her feet, she looked over at Spetok, who was still resting comfortably and unimposing on the floor.

"Spetok. Uh…thanks." She said, uncomfortably. "That was…nice. Thanks."

"I hope that you will continue, Ensign Rodriguez." Spotek observed. "I can see you have already benefited, even from this small step."

"Well, I'll try but…" She said. "Well, yeah, I will. Thanks again."

"Your thanks are not necessary. It was the logical course for me to take when confronted with your distress."

"Right. Well...I better go." Marisa nodded. "So…you know…take care."

"Certainly."

Unable to think of anything else to say, or even knowing what the heck she expected herself to do now, Marisa turned and left.

Outside in the corridor she began hiking it a bit when she realized she was strolling around casually like someone who didn't have somewhere to be double quick.

**********

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Jupiter Station**

At the deck E port airlock, Captain T'Pril Elizabeth Tucker and Executive Officer Lieutenant Commander Henry McArthur waited at ease, side by side. Near them, to the side and a step behind, steward Williams waited to escort their guests to their quarters. In a moment the airlock would cycle and Teval, the celebrated operatic tenor, would enter with his attendants. This would be the first time the fledgling captain had greeted anyone of note aboard ship, other than maintenance crewmen from the station. This 'Teval' person wasn't anyone Henry had ever heard of, not being one to keep up with opera and such, but he was a little nervous anyway.

"So you know how to do this, right?" He asked.

T'Pril replied, flatly. "I remind you that I speak the language, Commander, and I am familiar with simple customs."

"Right." He nodded absently. "But the thing…you had to do that a lot back on Centauri, right?" He asked frowning.

She turned her head partly toward him. "Yes. I have done 'the thing' frequently."

Henry nodded again. And fidgeted.

She turned to face the airlock once more.

A short pause. "Because I understand it's expected…" He spoke quickly.

"It is a simple matter, Commander McArthur." T'Pril interrupted. "You are worrying excessively. It is merely a greeting, one that I have performed frequently. It requires little effort or skill."

Henry nodded. "Right."

A moment more.

"It's just that Admiral Billings is a big opera fan, from what I hear." He explained. "Big fan of _this _guy in particular. A _big _fan, if you hear me. And he's the one signed off on this. And the last thing you need is these folks havin' any kinda complaint so Billings can get his undies in a bunch over it."

"We need only greet our guests, refer them to the steward here and we will have completed our duty in this regard for the moment." T'Pril responded.

Henry pounced on that. "Steward, you sure everythin's squared away down there?" He said over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir." The young steward assured. "Rooms have been cleaned thoroughly, filters on all vents, luggage and belongings already delivered. We're ready, sir."

"Okay, then." Henry nodded and frowned. And fretted.

The airlock cycled and began to open. Henry shifted his stance a bit and gave T'Pril another once-over on the sly, to be sure she hadn't missed any loose hairs or had a wrinkle in evidence anywhere on her uniform. Dang it all to hell, he hated having folk come callin' on his ship anyway.

From T'Pril's perspective, the older Vulcan who entered through the airlock projected an aura of snobbery before him like a wave. It was not something she was unfamiliar with fortunately. Many of the visitors that had been received in her own home on Centauri typically displayed the same attitude. Usually those coming from Vulcan to express their disagreement with her parents for stealing away some promising young person from their clan. But when considering the garishly rich platinum embroidery on the man's very expensive robes, and his obvious exclusive preference for young females among his attendants, she couldn't help but call to mind her father's general reaction to such people. As she recalled, he had actually ejected one of them physically through the front door of their home.

Nonetheless, T'Pril offered the traditional greeting, raising her hand respectfully in salute. "_Teval. Dif-tor heh smusma_."

The expected response, of course would be to return the greeting, or perhaps the alternative offer of personal service. But the elder Teval barely glanced over her as she welcomed him.

"Yes." He said dismissively, in English. "Which of you is to show us to our quarters?"

Clearly introducing herself and Commander McArthur would no longer be appropriate. And she had concerns that McArthur might begin to behave in an unbecoming manner once he realized he'd just been snubbed. T'Pril quickly gestured to the waiting steward and responded in English as well.

"This is Williams, you steward." She said. "He will escort you to your quarters, where your belongings await you. If you have any…"

"Let us go." Teval said, swishing his robes slightly with one hand while he approached the steward. To indicate he was prepared to go _now_.

Williams, being experienced enough to recognize the situation, moved quickly and had the group led down the hall in short order. But not quickly enough that T'Pril didn't clearly hear one of the young women murmur to another, "_Fnish-tor nash-kosu spo'komihn_." Certainly it was said loudly enough that it was obvious she had been expected to overhear, even without the telling glance in her direction.

As they disappeared down the hall, McArthur finally frowned. "The hell? You sure you did it right?"

"I did." T'Pril replied placidly. "As I have said, it is a simple greeting and not of such import as you seem to believe. It would appear Teval and his attendants are merely eager to retire to quarters."

Henry seemed to accept that, though he was still visibly confused.

"Well, okay then." He shrugged. "And what'd that girl say anyhow?"

"Nothing of importance." T'Pril replied. "But it would seem we have completed our duty here. We will return to the bridge."

As they made their way to the forward turbo lift, T'Pril considered that it was indeed unimportant. Of no matter at all. Yet she was concerned that informing McArthur the young woman had remarked that she 'smelled like a human' would not be taken well at all. Especially after their conversation the prior evening. He would be sure to realize the full insult that had been intended.

**********

_**Outreach Shuttle Two**_

**Vulcan Interface**

"Alright, Ensign. Coming up on reentry, there will be some chop."

The shuttle had begun shaking slightly before the pilot up front could finish the sentence. Marisa had been through a few reentries so the experience didn't faze her at all, though she figured the pilot, a young Ensign Wilkins, must have had a few people become anxious right about then. After only a moment the trembling had already subsided as the shuttle entered fully into atmosphere and started orienting toward it's destination.

"So, have you ever been to Vulcan?" He asked.

"No, I haven't." She replied, gazing over his shoulder out the forward window. "I've been around quite a lot but didn't actually touch ground too many places."

"Oh, a boomer?" The pilot asked, grinning.

Marisa grinned back. "No, though the ship I flew was all boomer. I came up from Mexico when I was still pretty young. Ended up bouncing to Starfleet."

Wilkins nodded. "We get a lot of those. People who come up out of a gravity well, get a taste of space, find they like it and jump at the 'fleet when the offer comes around."

"So you're a boomer, then." Marisa said. It was pretty obvious, but boomers didn't join too often. "How did you end up in Starfleet?"

"Family went broke, so I had to get a _real _job." He said, smiling.

Marisa grinned back at that, though she knew it was meant to hide what must have been a very painful time. 'Going broke' for a family of boomers usually meant losing the ship and practically everything that held them together as a family.

"Okay, so." The pilot announced. "First time on Vulcan. Three rules that will keep you out of a lot of trouble. Rule one, don't touch anybody. Not ever. Unless you have to grab someone to keep them from falling off a cliff. And even then you let go quickly and pretend it didn't happen. Rule two, don't smile. Don't show any facial expression at all, if you can help it. Down there grinning or frowning is the equivalent of cursing out loud. Rule three, don't flail your arms around or make big expressive gestures. That's an emotional display. There are Vulcans that have been thrown in jail for that kind of behavior. When in doubt, tuck your hands behind your back or in your pockets. Follow those rules and you're sure to be treated with only mild contempt. And trust me, the way they'll treat you otherwise _will _have you getting emotionally expressive. To the point that you'll end up in jail _yourself _by the end of the first day. Now, of course, you've probably figured all that out already if you've been on the _Outreach _for more than a few hours."

"Yeah, I kinda did." Marisa smirked.

Wilkins chuckled. "Right. But don't let me scare you. Once you get the hang of it you'll find they aren't all bad. Some of the best people I've ever known are Vulcan. I might even be tempted to call one or two of them my friends, if I didn't think they'd be insulted."

Marisa laughed a little at that. "My captain's half Vulcan and our Doctor's full blooded. And I've met a few besides."

"Oh, hey!" The pilot exclaimed. "You're off the _Vigilant _then! T'Pril Tucker's your captain, right?"

"Uh, yeah. That's right." Marisa replied, suddenly uncomfortable. _Have we've gotten around that much already?_

"Yeah, we've been hearing about that for weeks." Wilkins nodded, curious now. "First Human-Vulcan hybrid ever, I think, right? Famous parents. She's practically a celebrity, sort of. Ensign and already has a command, is that right?"

"No, she made JG." Marisa corrected. _But let's hope you don't ask questions about that one._

"Oh, okay." He nodded. "Hadn't heard that. That's still something, though. I'm pretty sure she's the first JG to ever hold command."

Marisa merely nodded. But after a moment she just had to ask.

"You don't seem too upset about that. Most people are." She said.

"Well, I don't serve on the _Vigilant_, so it hardly matters to me." Wilkins shrugged. "Is she a good captain?"

Marisa had to think about it for second or two. She hadn't ever actually considered it.

"She got us out of Wid-…well, a pretty bad situation." She said at last. "So, yeah. So far she seems to be."

"There you go. It's your opinion that matters." Wilkins noted.

Marisa contemplated that for a bit.

"But if that's right then I should probably warn you." Wilkins said suddenly. "You're probably going to get a mix of reactions to her down there. From what I gather the locals either think she's Surak's favorite granddaughter or some kind of horrible mutant abomination. Usually the later and there doesn't seem to be a lot of gray area about it either. That probably won't reflect on _you _directly though, that wouldn't be logical. But they won't have any problem with expressing their opinion, if you give them half a reason to. So I wouldn't if I were you."

Marisa nodded. Yeah, probably better not to have that discussion with anyone down there. She was pretty sure she'd have an emotional display to lay one someone over that point, if it came right down to it.

"So, okay. We've got about twenty minutes of flight time here and we're coming in close enough to make out some of the more interesting landmarks. I've made this run about a million times so let me show you around a bit. We have to come in along here to avoid the Forge to the north there. There's a natural dampening field over that whole area. Fly just a little too close to the ground over that way and you'll find yourself taking your own personal _kahns-wan _trying to get out alive. Which you probably won't."

"This very intimidating looking mountain here…that's the one and only Mount Seleya. If you have a camera, take a picture. It's one of _the _premiere landmarks in the known universe. The Vulcan Medical Institute is in _Shir Kahr_, so we'll get a glimpse of Mount Kholinar way off to the south as we pass by in a little while. But up ahead here, that wide flat area is the Shival Flats. Very interesting history…"

As Marisa listened to the young pilot drone on she suddenly remembered what she was doing here. She was on her way to an alien hospital, to be treated for a disease that had been threatening to kill her for over four years now. To be treated by aliens she barely understood and didn't really care for all that much. And no assurance the treatment itself wouldn't kill her anyway.

And all of a sudden, the very enthusiastic young pilot, who'd been such a welcome distraction up to that point, wasn't nearly distracting enough.

**********

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Jupiter Station**

0834, Alpha Shift, Captain Tucker manned the chair on the bridge, reviewing the ready reports most other captains would consider an irritating formality. With her bridge crew on deck and orders finally received she observed that the _Vigilant _was properly prepared to deploy. Other than Ensign Rodriguez the only other exception to her standard Alpha shift bridge crew was Commander McArthur, who'd chosen to man the engineering station himself. T'Pril assumed Ensign Foster must have managed to irritate her XO, resulting in his being relocated to main engineering as punishment.

"Look like they're stirring the tanks, captain." McArthur noted. "Estimate 2 minutes and we'll be topped off, ready to roll."

"Very well. Relay when engineering reports ready." T'Pril replied.

Interestingly, she noted McArthur attracted the attention of the Communications Officer at that point. He nodded sharply to her and Summers set about some task at her station with an intriguing measure of interest.

Turning to the comm officer herself then, she ordered. "Summers, request clearance for departure once fuel status is confirmed. Then assess and report traffic."

"Yes, captain." Summers replied, but her attention remained solidly on her console.

The _Vigilant_, since it's arrival, had caused something of a stir. As the _Aurora _was parked off the station, bumped from prime position in deference to _Vigilant's _battle damage, the crew of that vessel was already slightly miffed with them. Once word had gotten around through the grapevine concerning some of the action _Vigilant _had been involved in, that only made the situation worse.

While details of the events that had taken place at Widow's Well had been stepped on pretty hard by Command, _Vigilant's _crew status certainly hadn't escaped anyone's notice. The ship had already suffered significant casualties months previously and now had several top command staff KIA yet _again_. And that a ship full of Ensigns and Junior Grades had taken on and destroyed a Romulan Bird of Prey…in the condition that it had been in at the time…that just hadn't sat well with many of their peers. The crew had suffered considerable derision and provocation over the last few days from the officers of the _Aurora _and even from the station crew itself.

The entire situation had led to some fairly bad blood all around, with the _Vigilant_'s crew encouraged…_ordered _by their captain even…to just bow their heads and take it. At least for now. There was enough trouble stirred up all around as it were. But certain members of the _Vigilant's _command staff had taken it upon themselves to give the _Aurora_, Jupiter Station and perhaps even Starfleet itself the collective finger on their departure. Hence, 'Project Bird' and it's perfectly intentional double meaning.

After a minute running the hack Ensign West had devised through the station's system, Summers had four of Jupiter Station's repair drones online and hard at work, laying down 'Project Bird's' pigmented silicon adhesions on the outer hull. Two working together on each side of the ship, they would have their task completed in about one minute. Just enough time for the drones to wrap it up, jet away from the ship and leave _Vigilant _ready to go when they got the signal. It had somewhere along the way become tradition for a particular external shot of departing vessels to be displayed when their departure was announced. And so all over the station and, if tradition were observed, aboard the _Aurora _as well, their contribution to _Vigilant's _external hull designation would be proudly displayed for all to see when they broke dock. And very probably on several intra-system news feeds, if their departure happened to get a mention.

A clearly visible, pale green Bird of Prey now graced the _Vigilant's _saucer section, copied on both port and starboard rear hull, with a crimson red hash mark slashed through. With plenty of room to one side for more of the same to be added at a later date, of course. Absolutely, positively in blatant, glaring violation of Starfleet regulations. But they'd be long gone before anyone could make a fuss about it.

The command crew responsible had ensured it would also be routed to _Vigilant's _internal displays for her crew to see and enjoy, of course. With the exception of the bridge main view screen itself. No one had been brave enough to suggest Captain Tucker be brought into the loop until absolutely unavoidable.

"Station reports detached, confirmed." McArthur reported. "All systems green, ready for launch."

"Traffic clear, we have vector." Summers announced.

"Very well." T'Pril nodded. "Helm, .1 impulse on departure. Report when clear."

"Aye, captain." Ensign Stone acknowledged. ".1 impulse ahead."

After a moment they'd cleared the station, with the crew stationed there and aboard the _Aurora _already expressing outrage at what was gliding by across their screens.

"_Vigilant _clear, Captain." Stone reported.

"Set course for Vulcan, warp four."

"Course laid in...we're underway." Stone replied. "Warp four, steady."


	4. Chapter 4

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**En route to Vulcan**

Lieutenant Commander McArthur entered sickbay in a bit of a huff. At present there were no less than four engineers hard at work in here and he was bound and determined to find out just why the hell that was necessary.

"Doctor Sulok!" He barked, the moment he cleared the doors.

Sulok, currently overseeing the work in progress, was fortunately on hand to hinder any further outbursts in his department, appearing before the clearly aggravated Commander quickly in order to do so.

"Commander…" He began calmly.

"I just figured out why the status of both our shuttles has been 'maintenance overdue' since yesterday." McArthur said sharply. "The two engineers who oversee shuttle maintenance have been in here hooking up a brand new recovery bed we don't seem to have any particular damned need for."

"Commander McArthur…" Sulok attempted again.

McArthur had already snatched a PADD from his pocket to reference. "Supply Req' number 241-C, Sickbay Recovery Bed, type 21J." He growled. "Work Order 922E-12, Installation of recovery bed, Sickbay. _Equipment Inspection Report_…dated _two weeks ago_…Item 27, 'Recovery bed #4. Faulty battery pack and housing, damaged bedding and sheath.'"

"Commander…" Sulok endeavored.

"Nothing there that _one _engineer couldn'ta had fixed up right proper in _two hours _all by his lonesome, _without _having to replace a whole damned bed." McArthur snapped. "Now, Doctor Sulok, did I or did I not stand right where I'm standing now, just three weeks ago, and make perfectly clear to you that supply requisitions from Jupiter Station were to be, and correct me if my memory's failin' me here, 'frugal' and 'strictly necessary'?"

"Commander, the recovery bed…" Sulok explained.

"And the reason for that being we had quite enough mess stirred up with the desk jockeys at the station without givin' 'em any more supply req's to drag their feet on just because they're ornery." McArthur continued. "But now if that ain't enough, we got two shuttles that ain't clear for launch, just a hair from right when we're gonna need one, because you've got _four _of my folks tied up so you can disregard my instructions and get yerself a brand spankin' new recovery bed you ain't got no damned need…"

"Lieutenant Quinn died there." Sulok stated simply.

That brought the commander up short, as Sulok suspected it would, allowing him at last to speak without interruption.

"Recovery bed four was the unit that malfunctioned, resulting in the death of Lieutenant Quinn." Sulok explained. "While I agree, it could easily have been repaired, the crew have since displayed an illogical aversion to it that has proven insurmountable. As I conclude this will render sickbay effectively short one recovery bed for general use…"

McArthur stopped him, closing his eyes and raising one hand to halt any further discussion. "Alright. Yeah." He said grimly. "I gotcha doc."

"Very well." Sulok nodded. "I will strive to ensure that the installation of the new bed is conducted in as efficient a manner as possible, if that will alleviate your concerns and aid in…"

"Just forget it, doc." McArthur sighed. "I'll…take care of it."

"As you prefer." Sulok agreed. "However, it is fortunate that you arrived now. There is a separate matter that requires your authorization which has just come to my attention."

McArthur sighed again. He'd just had the wind knocked out of his sails pretty darned good and it looked like Sulok wasn't satisfied with that. Figured he'd learn not to bark at the Doc that way by now. Fellah sure knew how to make you sorry.

"Alright, doc." He said tiredly, already resigned. "Whatcha got?"

Sulok produced a PADD, as if by magic. "Secured Quarantine Authorization for Main Guest Quarters, deck G. I will require your designation."

McArthur stared blankly for a moment before snatching the PADD to go over it one good time. Looking back up, he was a bit amazed.

"The hell, doc?" He asked.

"There is a medical condition that requires…" Sulok began.

"_What _medical condition?" McArthur demanded. "And _who_, one of our Vulcan hitchhikers?"

"I am afraid I am not at liberty to answer." He replied simply.

"The hell…not at lib-…?!" McArthur sputtered for a moment, before searching the form again frantically to figure out what the hell, exactly.

After a moment. "Reference to Medical Protocol 14, paragraph 2. That's all you got for a reason here, doc." He pointed out, tapping the PADD with one finger.

"I am afraid that is all I am at liberty to…"

"Well, I'mma need a hell of a lot more than that before I go posting armed guards and sealing our guests up in their quarters, doc." McArthur insisted. "A whole _hell _of a lot more."

"Then I would recommend consulting Medical Protocol 14, paragraph 2."

**********

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

_**Shir Kahr**_

Marisa had already been slowly inching toward paranoia while waiting around in this very weird, very quiet and very _alien _place all day long. _Again _with the waiting around. And she couldn't even escape outside for a minute to get some fresh air or anything. Gravity was _loco _on this rock and you could just forget about breathing _and _doing anything else at the same time in what passed for atmo out there.

But _this_…this did _not _look like any kind of operating room to her. It didn't look like any kind of outpatient treatment room either. In fact, this didn't look like it had _anything _to do with medical treatment _at all_. It was just an empty chamber with nothing but a knee-high, thinly cushioned..._table. _And two very stone faced Vulcan _men _standing over it. And one of those guys had some kind of hypospray.

No. That's _mala onda_. We're not having any of this today.

"_No vaya_." Marisa said, shaking her head. "I don't think so."

"You will offer your cooperation." The bad guy on the right spoke. In a cold, cold voice. "Recline here, then we will…"

"_Chin no, no vaya_." She said, waving one hand very firmly 'no' in that direction and whipped around, heading for the door. Screw this, we are outta here. But now there's the two guys that have been following her around everywhere. The steely-eyed security guys. And they were blocking the doorway.

"You two need to get out of my way." She growled, glaring.

"Rodrekiss, this is…" Bad guy number two.

"Rodri-_guez_!" She snapped over her shoulder.

"As you insist." Bad guy one again, and no less cold. "You must recline here for…"

_Insist? It's my damned name! _

"No one's telling me anything about what's going on here." She asserted, turning sideways between the two pair of men, her peripheral vision on full alert. She was getting pretty close to losing her cool, she knew. But at least she could try another Parsons dive on one of the two blocking the door.

When no one responded, she was officially done with all this. "This doesn't look like any kind of _pinche _treatment room to me."

"Now." She jerked one furious thumb at the thugs in the doorway. "These two had better get out of my way or I'm going _cabrona _up in here."

"_Pehhau. Saseshau kanok-veh_." A calm _female _voice spoke out, from _beyond _the two blocking the door. "_Sa'ash-tor sahris dahkuh'du._"

Just like that the two at the door were gone and her exit was wide open. Outside, leaving plenty of room for her to bolt, an elderly Vulcan woman stood looking back at her. Marisa had never seen anyone appear both stern and peaceful at the same time but she couldn't help noticing this _mujer vieja_ was managing it pretty well.

"Lady Rodriguez, you may disregard these medical officers." She asked calmly. "They have foolishly neglected to offer you a universal translator and so consequently fail to understand much of what you say. Due in part to your accent but more, I suspect, to their deficient intelligence. So also they fail to recognize your profanity and the warning that should otherwise convey to them."

Marisa stayed riveted on the old woman. It was obvious right off that she was in charge around here. With just a few words the probability of violence occurring had just dropped pretty significantly. But she wasn't quite ready to let everyone around here off the hook just yet. So this lady might be on the receiving end in a minute.

"If you will allow it," The old woman said. "I will escort you to the exit and wait with you there until a public conveyance arrives to transport you to the embassy."

"Who are you?" Marisa snapped.

"I am V'Sun." She replied. "It is I who was to save your life."

**********

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**En route to Vulcan**

The ready room chime sounded. Without taking her attention away from the data on the screen, T'Pril called out. "Enter."

And Henry McArthur strode into the room, exuding a particularly unusual mixture of amusement and consternation that caught her attention quickly.

"Well." He said, flouncing into the chair across from her. "I'm about to make you real happy we got two shuttles."

"That is extremely unlikely." T'Pril doubted.

Henry nodded. "Okay, then. But that'll put me up by _two _points now, I do hope you know."

T'Pril considered carefully, before turning her attention to him fully. "Very well. I accept your challenge. However, I will draw your attention to your wording. 'Real happy'."

Henry stopped short at that. "Huh." He said doubtfully. "Okay. May have bit off more'n I can chew with that one."

After a brief reconsideration, he shrugged. "But what the hell. I might get lucky." Producing a PADD from one pocket, he continued. "Secured Quarantine Authorization. Main Guest Quarters, deck G. I just signed off on it."

That brought T'Pril's eyebrow to new heights.

"What has prompted that level of intervention?" She asked.

"That's exactly what I asked the Doc…well, more or less anyway." He shrugged. "But Medical Protocol 14, paragraph 2 says I don't need to know and I'd best stop asking if I know what's good for me. One of those quirky little agreements we made with the Vulcans way back when, that keep popping up every so often."

T'Pril's eyebrow went promptly _down _at that statement, he noticed. Yup, looked like it was about as serious as he was beginning to figure. He might just get that point after all.

"Now, I managed to whittle a bit out of him." Henry went on. "Especially when he mentioned it was one the young ladies down there that was in trouble..."

T'Pril considered that carefully, while Henry waited. At length she asked. "How much information were you able to elicit from Doctor Sulok before he recognized you knew nothing?"

Henry grinned. "Right. I made out like I knew what was going on at first but he caught on quick enough. I managed to figure out enough to know I don't want to know anymore. And I found out I'm glad I didn't sneak a look at that book of yours, like I was aiming to do. You got me all curious on that one, you know."

"Commander, curiosity is an exceedingly dangerous emotion to indulge." T'Pril admonished.

"Oh, I do know that." He nodded, with a grin. "But anyway, here's what. Got deck G starboard quarters locked down, Achilla and our only other two female security officers down there. Teval's free to come and go, since he took the quarters to port, but we both know he ain't gonna. He's apparently protestin' your existence by locking himself up in there, though I find oddly enough not a soul on board finds themselves much put out by that. But...Sulok says the Vulcan girls down there can handle their own in the meantime and that it ain't likely to be a problem anyhow. She's supposed to be a week or two out from being in any kind of real trouble and I gather he's just being particular about the whole thing."

T'Pril nodded. "It is a condition that does not reward failure to properly prepare."

"So now we know why we got the famous Teval hitchin' a ride on a Starfleet NX class. He had to get one of his girls home to her fellah double quick." Henry said. "Which, pushing the boundaries of that curiosity we were just talkin' about, he's supposed to be takin' care of this girl, right? I mean, I still ain't got all the in's and out's here but I gather that's where she wants to be, right?"

"Indeed." T'Pril replied simply.

"Good enough." Henry nodded. "Reckon that's all I need to know. Just wanted to be sure we were doing right by the girl."

T'Pril suddenly realized the relevance. "I comprehend now your prior reference to the fortune of having two shuttles available."

"Right again, you got it." Henry nodded. "Teval's girls will be taking Shuttle One down tomorrow, assumin' you approve. So as to get that girl straight to home."

"And Teval?"

"Has his own ride, comin' up for him a little later on."

"Then I will approve, of course." She agreed. "However, I must regretfully inform you that you have failed to earn an additional point. While I do find it fortunate and I am indeed gratified that we have an additional shuttle at our disposal, I would not characterize this as 'happy', much less 'real happy'."

"Ah, well." Henry dismissed. "Can't score unless you shoot."

T'Pril affirmed with a nod. "We are tied again, Commander."

**********

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

_**Shir Kahr**_

Marisa Rodriguez was a little annoyed to find that all it took to reduce her to a _pequina _was an old woman, Vulcan or not, who could speak so calmly and still snap your head off at the same time. V'Sun had her sitting still with her mouth firmly shut, mindful of her _posture _even, in less than a minute. But she was at least charitable enough to finally offer her an explanation of the coming procedure.

Charity indeed, because Marisa was sure the old woman could have had her agreeing swiftly and respectfully to go along with it whether she knew a thing about it or not. This _mujer vieja_ knew how to command obedience.

"Do you have any familiarity with Vulcan psychic disciplines, Lady Rodriguez?" V'Sun asked.

And there she goes with that 'lady' again. Which just made her try to _act _like one, not that she had the vaguest notion.

"Uh...no." Marisa responded. "Or…well, not really. I heard of mind-melding from some _v'tosh ka'tur _I ran into this one time. But don't know much about that kind of thing."

"I would not find such persons a reliable source of information." The old woman replied, somewhat sternly. "Or reliable for most anything else. However, the topic of Vulcan empathic ability is relevant here."

V'Sun folded her hands in her lap comfortably and explained. "Most of what was known of such things has been lost to us in ancient history. And so significant research here at the Medical Institute has been devoted to recovering what we can, as much of it has proven to have direct and practical application in the field of medicine. Specifically, we have begun to uncover the physical mechanisms behind many psychic and spiritual abilities, finding they often share many of the same characteristics."

"For example." V'Sun asked. "Are you familiar with the _to'tsu'k'hy_?"

Marisa hadn't a clue and only shrugged, though she could have kicked herself for being so discourteous.

"_To'tsu'k'hy _is a technique used to render another unconscious by applying pressure to a specific nerve cluster at the base of the neck." V'Sun continued. "It is routinely taught as a method of self-defense and to subdue the violent. This technique itself derives from a more general therapeutic discipline, most commonly known as _ne'hish to'tsu or '_neuro-pressure_'_. This discipline, I understand, played a significant role in the development of the bond between the biological parents on your own starship captain."

Marisa hadn't actually known that but she wasn't about to say anything. The old woman had already begun to intimidate her. Just a little.

"The _to'tsu'k'hy_, the various techniques of _ne'hish to'tsu _and even the more commonly known _kash-nohv_, or 'mind melding', all share similar traits. All require touch, all involve the nervous system and almost all are unique to Vulcans, often being difficult or in some cases impossible to teach to non-Vulcans. Even the _tel-tor_, the mating bond, we have found shares these same general traits. What does this suggest to you?"

Marisa was a little lost. "I…can't say, _senora_."

"It should suggest that the mechanism for Vulcan psychic communication relies upon, or at least directly involves, the nervous system." V'Sun explained patiently. "Though we continue to fail to detect such energies mechanically, it is the logical deduction. This is the reason direct physical contact is required for the _to'tsu'k'hy _technique, _ne'hish to'tsu '_neuro-pressure' and _kash-nohv _'mind-melding'. It is also the reason frequent and intimate physical contact plays such a significant role in strengthening bonds of all forms and even aids in explaining the ability of the _ozh'esta _'finger embrace' to elicit comfort."

"And so, in the course of our research in this general area, we have incidentally recovered many previously lost medical treatments for cerebral and nervous system disorders, including the _pa'nar _syndrome and your own illness. Therefore you will find it is most commonly through the conscious and deliberate application of psychic manipulation upon the brain and nervous system that such things are treated here at the Medical Institute."

_Now _Marisa got it.

"Oh…so, that's why…" She guessed. "I kind of freaked out a little when I didn't see any medical equipment in here. Or…anything else."

"This was my conclusion. And so I have offered you this explanation." V'Sun affirmed. "Furthermore, I required you to understand this so that you would also understand a further requirement. That you meditate for one hour before we begin. Spetok has informed me that you have a rudimentary understanding of simple meditation and so you will do so now."

Marisa was surprised. "You know Spetok?"

"Certainly. He is my great-grandson." V'Sun replied. "We communicated several hours ago. It was upon my suggestion that he made contact with you aboard the _Outreach_, to assess you before we met and to relay his general evaluation to me. As well as take any opportunity that might present itself to educate you in basic meditation."

"Oh, okay…uh…" Marisa was beginning to feel a little spun around. "Why…do you need _me _to meditate?"

"Communication is rarely one sided in such matters." V'Sun explained. "It will be necessary to interact directly with your nervous system. Were you to experience any particularly powerful emotional state, such contact would likely provoke a lesser but similar response from me. It would represent only a mildly disturbing effect but would linger for several hours and can be expected to prove difficult to suppress. It is an unfortunate side effect. I would prefer to avoid it if possible."

"Oh…alright. I can understand that, I guess." Marisa nodded. "But…I'm not sure…"

"You will meditate for one hour." V'Sun announced. "At that time, if you are able to achieve any emotional state that is less than openly aggressive, a sedative will not be required."

With that V'Sun was on her feet, with quite a lot of pep for an old woman, and swishing through the door before Marisa could think of anything else to say.

Except, dammit, that she _wasn't _aggressive.

**********

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

Commander Henry McArthur hustled down the corridor, heading for the shuttle bay. He couldn't help but welcome any opportunity for hands on when it came to engineering matters. The Executive Officer position had too damned much data collation for his tastes. So any excuse to get his hands dirty, even figuratively, was a good thing these days.

So. Get shuttles prepped, get Teval's girls loaded up and get them headed on out. Teval could go on pouting down in Main Guest all he likes until his private shuttle picked him up in a few hours at the port airlock. In fact, Henry hoped he'd keep that up right until he left. He hadn't made any friends on the ship with his habit of sharin' his opinion of the captain all over the place. So with all that covered there'd be plenty of time to get Shuttle Two ready to go for the captain to pick up Rodriguez when the word came. And since Hsaio was bridge Flight until Rodriguez was back on board, and Stone was the only other certified female pilot for Shuttle One, that would leave West shuttling the captain down. Which meant he wanted Shuttle Two in absolute tip-top shape. No offense to West but he wasn't one hundred percent on her abilities. Rodriguez probably wouldn't be flying back so…well, just best leave nothing to chance...

And so McArthur was a little distracted and almost didn't notice the young Vulcan clinging to the bulkhead until he was nearly two meters from running her right over.

Now Henry was well into his thirties, so he'd lived long enough to figure out one particular thing about his life. That being in most cases, given a range of possibilities, the one most likely to cause him the greatest trouble was the one you could pretty much count on happening. And so he knew right off which one of Teval's assistants this young lady most likely was.

And he knew just enough about _that _situation to have an idea that this here was some trouble just waitin' to happen.

His mind immediately occupied itself with two very important questions in regards to that. First, just what the hell it was he supposed to do in this situation exactly. And second, why the hell this woman was standing all by her lonesome, clinging to the bulkhead like she was drowning, when there wasn't a security alert going on about it _as there damned well ought to be_. In fact, he suddenly found himself looking forward real keenly to addressing that matter with Ensign Achilla just as soon as…

"_Security alert! All security officers to stations. On watch for Vulcan, female, medium height, brown robes. Considered dangerous, possibly armed. Do not approach, report to security on sight."_

Well, then. That's covered. Now what about _this_.

Okay, quick assessment, Henry. There's an intercom right over there. 'Dangerous, possibly armed', so we'll just edge on over real easy. No threat here, lady. You just keep a good grip on to that bulkhead so it don't go anywhere…

And then she looked up at him desperately. And Henry McArthur suddenly reassessed the situation. 'Cause this young lady didn't look all that 'dangerous, possibly armed'. She looked plumb lost. And scared half silly, and pretty darned confused. And…well, maybe something else there that the more gentlemanly part of him didn't really want to put a label to.

Well, hell. Did his momma raise him right or not? You don't just stand around and leave a woman in trouble just hangin' on a bulkhead like that. We'll just try to put her at ease while we tiptoe over to the intercom really easy.

"Alright, lady." Henry said, in as nice and non-threatening voice as he could. Which, he maybe really wasn't all that good at. "You just hold on right there now. We're all fine. Ain't no worry here."

He tried to smile a bit. Everything's fine here now, lady. Okay, he wasn't real good at being _non_-threatening but maybe she'd get the message...He gestured real casual like at the intercom.

"Uh…I'm gonna just call your lady friends down here, alright? Get you real safe and proper where you need to…"

And she was stumbling toward him, as pleading a look in her eyes as he'd ever seen.

"Whoa, now…" Henry exclaimed, stepping back a bit. "Hold on, there…"

And she had him. One hand pretty damned _firmly _gripped on his right arm and the other tangled up tight in the front of his uniform. Maybe tighter than she'd had hold of that bulkhead even. The hell to do _now_…?

"Okay…okay, now…let's all just take it easy here…" Henry muttered helplessly. Ho, boy. Well, she's got a grip, don't she? That's gonna bruise. So okay, she's happy with that. Let's just leave her to it and let's all take it easy now.

And this poor girl was scared. Scared right out of her little head. Confused, desperate, needed some help. Needed _his _help. And momma didn't raise no cad, did she? Damned if he wasn't gonna help her out here. Suddenly there wasn't no question about that.

_Damned _if he wasn't.

'Cause she was such a pretty little thing. Pretty little woman like that ought not to be in a situation like this anyhow. We're gonna get her where she needed to go double quick and, by God, best nobody try to get in the damned way. And she smelled awful nice, too. And he had her tight to his chest, then. She's all a tremble, so there, there now girl. Everythin's gonna be alright. We're gonna take good care of you. Not a thing to worry about. No one's gonna get at you while old Henry's gotcha, don't you worry about that. And damned but didn't she feel good right where she was…

"Commander McArthur, step away from T'Lin immediately."

_The hell?_

Captain Tucker. Standing right there down the corridor. And Henry realized he didn't know where he was or what he was doing...

"Uh…cap'n." He stuttered. Damn. He couldn't think straight all of a sudden. "We got…situation…"

"Step away immediately, commander." She said firmly.

And then he was _mad_. Pretty damned mad as he'd _ever _been. Except…_he _wasn't mad. _She _was. That frail little thing wasn't so frail all of a stark sudden. She was right out of her head _pissed off_. And just how he knew that, he had no idea. But she was spitting fire, out for blood all of a damned sudden…

So maybe he wasn't thinking all that clearly right now. But he should have seen that little girl go after the captain in time to at least _think _about doing something about it. He didn't though. The two were tangled up before he knew it. The really pretty, good smellin' one doing her best to rip the captain's face off…the cap'n taking hold of one arm, twisting around and slamming her into the wall…which…he _really _ought be doing something about all this…but he couldn't do anything but stand there and stare like a dumb ass.

And then the captain pinched that poor girl on the shoulder…and she hit the deck like a sack of taters. Just like that.

_Oh, there's the security team right there_. McArthur thought vaguely. _Well, that's nice. Should have figured they'd be along directly..._

One look at the captain, though…and _that _snapped Henry out of whatever the heck bunch of stupid had taken over his brain. Because that…_that _got his attention, right sharp, right quick.

She was breathing pretty hard and it wasn't from tussling with the Vulcan girl, he knew. She was _pissed_. Her eyes were wide and her fists curled up tight. Her chest heaved and she was _shaking_. This was nothing at all like the T'Pril Tucker he'd known up to this point.

This was bad news.

"Doctor S-sulok…" The captain stuttered angrily. "I will req…quire a mild sedative as w-well…"

Sulok, who Henry now noticed was on hand, was busy applying a hypospray to the unconscious Vulcan on the deck. He said something in Vulcan to the captain, very calmly. With lots of appeasement spread on top.

"_Ri'kash-to hassu, goddamn now!" _The captain erupted.

And that scared the hell out of Henry.


	5. Chapter 5

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"Absolutely not, captain." McArthur said firmly. "You aren't fit for duty as it is. You ought to be in sickbay letting Sulok check you over. Not shuttling down somewhere, and sure as hell not Vulcan of all places…"

"We are approaching the away team locker room, Commander." T'Pril advised. "Let this discussion conclude. It would be unproductive for the crew to witness disagreement between the Captain and Executive Officer."

"Then stop being pig-headed and get your damned self to sickbay." Henry countered.

"That is not necessary." She replied. "The effects are passing and will dissipate completely in a matter of hours. I need only retrieve Ensign Rodriguez and return. This is a simple task. Doctor Sulok has cleared me for duty."

"Sulok ain't cleared you for duty!" Henry argued. "He just gave up arguing with you because he ain't willing to relieve you."

"Then you likewise should let go your concern." T'Pril said. "Unless you are willing to relieve me of command where Doctor Sulok is not."

"No, I ain't gonna, dammit, but I don't like it." Henry groused. "And I don't like that you're acting like everything's fine. Because it ain't. I saw you back there and that wasn't no kind of normal behavior for you. Hell, _any _kind of behavior ain't normal behavior for you…"

"You exaggerate, Commander McArthur." T'Pril insisted. "And this conversation has ended."

They reached the locker room and the captain was through the door without pause, pretty much nipping the whole thing right in the bud. Stopping to take a quick, frustrated breath, McArthur followed her inside…to find that P'Trell was waiting, which made any further argument out of the question. Of all the crewmen he didn't want to be caught arguing with the captain in front of, Rexas topped the list.

"Continue your report, Commander." T'Pril commanded, as she moved to the counter to secure her gear.

As if _that's _what they'd been talking about. And it was odd in Henry's opinion how the captain didn't ever seem to mind talking bull like that when every other Vulcan he'd even known were all honest to a _fault_. That didn't make him any happier about this whole situation either, what with her assurances that she was fine and all.

"Stone reported a few minutes ago that they'd arrived and…" McArthur reported, all business now. "Well, everything as expected on that front. She was lifting off then, ETA one hour. West is prepping Shuttle Two for disembark. She'll be your pilot on the way down. Probably back up as well, depending. The liaison from the Vulcan Medical Institute says Rodriguez is on her feet and good to go but I'll leave that for you to decide when you see her."

McArthur cast a glowering nod at P'Trell then. "And also Rexas here pulled regulations out his rear and insists on going as well. Minimum two crew on the ground in all situations and whatnot. And while I think that's pushing it, I reckon I've got no complaint if you want to let security tag along."

T'Pril cast an assessing glance at the Security Chief but didn't offer any argument. With a sharp nod to McArthur she turned her attention fully to Rexas. Thankfully before the Andorian could smirk at Henry as he damned knew he was wanting to. Because he was just in no damned mood right now.

"Standard ground gear for all crewmen. As well as for Ensign Rodriguez." She ordered Rexas. "Include phase pistols, to be stored in the shuttle's secure locker."

P'Trell's antennae twitched a bit at that but he didn't comment. As security officer, T'Pril hadn't expected he would offer any disagreement. Being already outfitted in that manner himself, he simply grabbed two 'go packs' in one hand and headed out the door to the weapons locker around the corner. Pretty obviously, in Henry's opinion, to give them an opportunity to finish the argument he must have known they were having.

While T'Pril pocketed a communicator and retrieved a specialized tricorder from the shelf, Henry watched with agitation, waiting until the door closed completely before continuing to express his disagreement.

"There's already a phase pistol on the shuttle, captain." He began. "And why are you outfitting everyone? It's just a routine pick up."

"I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality, as we have previously discussed." She responded.

"So that ain't a little twinge in judgment then? Maybe an indication you ain't quite a hundred percent here? Like the fact you just grabbed an science tricorder instead of a standard?"

"This is the tricorder I prefer, Commander." She argued.

"You ain't even out the door and you're already half a bubble off plumb." Henry grumped. "I'm just about ready to relieve you after all, captain."

At that T'Pril stopped what she was doing and turned to face him head on.

"Commander McArthur." She said calmly. "I understand you are concerned. In your position as Executive Officer it is perhaps admirable. However, I can only assure you again that I am well. Any further consideration is not necessary. Unless you are prepared to relieve me of command without cause then those concerns are duly noted. Return to the bridge and take command of the ship until I return."

With a long stare to give McArthur enough time _not _to do anything as stupid as try to relieve her of command for no reason he could adequately explain, she nodded and left the room. Leaving McArthur to glower all alone from the very bad feeling this whole thing was giving him.

But at least she hadn't said 'I admit' or 'regrettable failure'. Because that would have been that and he'd have put his foot down all over the damned place.

**********

As the shuttle cleared the bay and backed slowed out to space, T'Pril could only reflect that above everything else she was most cognizant of her relief at being _away _from Henry McArthur at the moment. Never mind that she was about to venture into the upper atmosphere of her mother's home world, a planet she had up to now only _dreamed _of ever seeing. And never mind that once she got there she'd be sneaking about like a criminal on some dubious espionage mission for an organization she had absolutely no trust in. And never mind as well that all of this took place against the backdrop of her obligations to her crew, who relied upon her to be honorable and…well, quite frankly, _worthy _of their obedience.

No, above all that the thing that occupied her mind the most, in contradiction to all logic, was the relief at having escaped that man. Because he was the only one in position to question her decisions. The one to whom, to some degree at least, she was beholden to explain her reasoning. And while she would otherwise consider herself up to that task, or at least for outmatching him in sheer stubbornness…at the moment she just wasn't up to either. She knew very well that were he granted just a minute or two more with which to torment her, she would certainly have snapped. She would have said or done something that would have given him every reason to relieve her of command.

Because he was, of course, absolutely right. She was not at all one hundred percent at the moment. Not even close. That accursed T'Lin's irrational fury still pounded in her veins, undermining her self-control enough that _this _was the best that she could accomplish. This pathetic running away from the humiliation of the incident in the corridor and sitting now on the shuttle, on her way down to Vulcan, merely _hoping _she could manage to pull the whole thing off. Instead of having a well thought out strategy in place for dealing with all possible contingencies as she certainly ought to have.

But on the other hand she supposed it could be far worse. The desire to inflict violence was an impulse she at least had some familiarity with, as particularly hated and feared as that impulse might be to her. At present she might be having difficulty suppressing it but that was perhaps one benefit of being half human. At least then the emotions and urges one was afflicted with were somewhat manageable on their own. Honestly, humans generally had no idea how very lucky they were. Most Vulcans spent the first decade of their adulthood mastering the basic level of self-control that your average human was _born _with.

And more than that, come to think of it, she could have attempted the _to'tsu'k'hy _on T'Lin while she had been distracted, huddled to McArthur's chest as she had been. T'Pril shuddered to think just what urging she might be suffering at the moment had she chosen to do so _then_. She almost _had _decided to do just that when she had first been confronted with the situation in the corridor. As it happened, only concern for the commander had prompted her to attempt to remove him from the situation before dealing with T'Lin directly. An impulsive decision that it would seem had nevertheless served her well.

However, it certainly would have been preferable if someone had warned her beforehand that the _to'tsu'k'hy _had this effect in such extreme circumstances. Sulok's explanation of what had happened to her was the first she'd ever heard of it. If she had known _that _she would have stunned the woman a few times with a phase pistol instead. Or simply beaten her unconscious. Both ideas having tremendous appeal at the moment.

Confronted with that line of thought, T'Pril realized her thoughts were flowing without any constraint whatsoever. And worse, she had apparently degenerated to the point of violent fantasy. So, as much as she found dealing with her emotional state in a human manner to be extremely disagreeable, it was clear that Vulcan discipline was accomplishing little. Whatever it was about this condition that allowed it to so neatly avoid almost every established method of suppression, she was forced now to accept that the logical response was to resort to human methods.

So she required a distraction.

Which, when she glanced over at the rear view screen on the pilot's console, promptly presented itself.

It only took a moment to link the newest addition to the _Vigilant's _hull designation to the fleeting interaction between Commander McArthur and Ensign Summers on the bridge earlier. Obviously the work had taken place at Jupiter Station and so McArthur must have been giving Summers the cue to direct the repair drones to add the 'kill mark'. As that would require illegally accessing the drones in the first place then it followed that most likely Ensign West had performed a 'hack'. All of which illustrated clearly that her command staff had conspired to violate Starfleet code and had colluded further to keep that knowledge from her.

Though T'Lin's phantom urgings insisted she confront West immediately and aggressively, in hopes of sparking a confrontation, T'Pril reined in the impulse and mulled the matter over for a while. That her staff would conspire together to such ends spoke quite a lot concerning the crew's morale. Especially to her failures in that area. After a few moments of contemplation it became clear to her what had prompted McArthur to instigate this action, as well as what role she was expected to play in its resolution. And so it seemed best to take steps in that direction immediately.

"Ensign West." She said at last. "There is a phrase I have heard several times in the last few years. Perhaps you are familiar with it?"

A little surprised to find the captain apparently making small talk all of a sudden, West divided her attention between her captain and flying the shuttle. Once T'Pril was sure she was listening…and P'Trell as well, who sat across from her, she continued.

"'The XO flies the ship. The Captain cracks the whip.'" She said. "I have heard it many times, in many variations, but until now did not fully understand the meaning."

After a moment, West replied hesitantly. "Well, yeah. I guess I've heard something like that. To be honest, I'm not sure I can explain what it's supposed to mean."

P'Trell, at no surprise to her, immediately interjected. "It means the second in command is usually the one to get things done. With the top officer positioned where they are on the chain of command, they can't get their hands dirty. The XO runs the unit and the OIC maintains the link with command…_both _ways. From my experience the same general principle holds true at all levels in all militarized organizations."

Yet again T'Pril found Rexas unpredictable. And again she resolved to keep a closer eye on him than she had up to this point.

T'Pril nodded. "This is essentially correct. So, for example, when crew morale suffered recently from the rejection they suffered, both from their peers aboard the _Aurora _and the Jupiter Station crew, Commander McArthur took it upon himself to address that. Where as I, as captain, was both unwilling and unable to do what was most expedient in that regard."

From P'Trell's ready grin she could see he'd understood quickly what she was referring to. West still looked a bit confused, though.

"The 'kill mark', Ensign West." She explained. "The reasons Commander McArthur arranged for it's placement should be clear to you in light of this."

West immediately looked abashed. "Oh. Captain…I…" She stammered.

"I am not demanding an accounting at this time, ensign." T'Pril assured her. "I call attention to this now so that you can both learn something concerning your positions as department heads."

After a pause for West to catch up with her, she continued. "Commander McArthur, as Executive Officer, could order such a thing in contradiction to Starfleet code regarding ship designations. He could do this because, when it was inevitably discovered, he need only suffer a mild rebuke and correction before all could be made well again. Were I to have ordered such a thing to be done, the repercussions would have been much more profound and the correction involved would originate from higher on the chain of command. Do you understand?"

West could see what the captain was getting at easily enough. "Yes, ma'am." She nodded. "I suppose it would have been a pretty big deal."

"Indeed." T'Pril affirmed. "In that case most likely an officer ranking at least Admiral would have been forced to address this matter with me. And so, consequently, the response would be necessarily heavy handed. In the current case, I need only express my disapproval before the crew and order the 'kill mark' removed. No further action need be taken. And when Admiral Archer questions me concerning this violation of code, I can assure him the matter has been resolved. Which he will readily accept, as he will likely understand the intricacies involved."

She eyed the two officers for a moment, to be sure they understood her point. P'Trell seemed already familiar with the politics at play. West, however, seemed only now to dawn upon them.

"Consider this matter carefully." T'Pril advised. "Most certainly, this was not merely a juvenile rebellion against authority on Commander McArthur's part. It was necessary to instigate this action without my knowledge, even as he was surely aware it would come to my attention eventually. And that my reaction would then be to enforce Starfleet regulations. In the end the crew morale has significantly improved, but at the expense of discipline. Which, of course, I will correct when we return to the ship."

She looked to each of the two officers present. "And so McArthur and I will have performed our duties as Executive Officer and as Captain, to address both morale and discipline. The needs of the crew and the requirements of Starfleet."

"As department heads, each of you have been granted 'seconds'." She continued. "Unofficial second officers of your own, each whom oversee your departments while you attend to bridge duties. Consider McArthur's actions carefully and with greater insight. You will find he is exceptionally skilled in this area, the result of many years of experience. And you will find a greater understanding of how best you utilize your department seconds. I am aware that the officer ranking aboard the ship makes your positions uncomfortable. However, I am unwilling to grant the promotions that many of you feel would resolve that matter somewhat. At least until I feel they are appointed appropriately. Emulate Commander McArthur in relation to your departments and I may soon find it convenient to offer you the promotions that you aspire to. Otherwise, they will not serve the ship."

"But rest assured I will hold you responsible both for the efficiency and the actions of the individual officers under you." She warned. "If you wish to maintain your positions, then lead them well. If you manage to impress the Executive Officer in the process, this will factor significantly in my decisions regarding promotion and assignment."

And that was that. With the silence that descended, T'Pril was sure both officers had been given quite a lot to reflect upon. Turning her attention inward again she considered much the same herself, reassessing both her and the XO's role in commanding the ship. It wasn't necessary for the two officers to understand she'd only just come to this conclusion herself. Better that she appeared to have understood all along. But the fact remained, she was only beginning to understand just why McArthur had avoided taking command himself, preferring the position of 'mere' Executive Officer. He had plainly stated his reasoning before but only now did she begin to see just what he'd meant.

While she had simply intended to distract herself from her…emotional difficulties, she found that she'd stumbled somewhat on a greater understanding of her role in the command process. An understanding of something, she was somewhat humbled to realize, her XO seemed to have grasped intuitively.

But nonetheless, as the shuttle approached the south landing pad of the Vulcan Medical Institute, T'Pril reflected for just a moment that the entire diversion had served her well. Her irrational aggression had greatly diminished and she felt, at least for the moment, like the captain again. Even if her understanding of what exactly that meant had changed significantly.

**********

"Okay, doc. So she was just confused and trying to get home, is that right?" McArthur carried on, as he and Sulok moved down the deck E corridor toward the airlock.

"Indeed." Replied Sulok. "However, I do not believe it is appropriate to discuss this matter…"

"Tough." Henry grumped. "We're discussin' it. So spit it out."

Sulok paused for a moment, as close to an expression of longsuffering as he would permit. "Very well. That was indeed her goal. As the condition necessarily undermines discipline, she merely lost control momentarily and attempted…"

"Right." Henry nodded abruptly. "She lost her head, broke out through the vents, got herself lost and was just trying to get somebody as looked like they knew their way around to get her to a shuttle. Got fed up with waitin' around to get home to her fellah, is that right?"

"That is my estimation." Sulok agreed.

"So…no danger of…you know…" Henry floundered a bit. "I mean, she wasn't looking for…"

"If you are asking if her intention was to mate with you…" Sulok began.

"Right. That." Henry winced. "Sheesh, doc."

"No, commander." Sulok assured. "That is extremely unlikely."

"I dunno." Henry argued, shaking his head. "Whatever hoodoo she was putting on me, I wasn't exactly feelin' all gentlemanly just about then."

"She would not have permitted you to take advantage of her condition, commander." Sulok asserted. "As I have stated, she is bonded."

"Well. You keep sayin' that." Henry worried. "But like I said, I was starting to get all manner of unpolite there for a minute. And she didn't seem in all that much condition to…you know…put up much of a fight about it…"

"I will remind you, commander, that T'Lin is Vulcan and considerably stronger than you." Sulok maintained. "Very likely you would have been physically assaulted and should you have managed to remain conscious, forced on threat of further violence to escort her to the shuttle bay. As I have said, she is mated. She would not have accepted any other than her bond mate so long as he remained even remotely accessible."

Henry considered for a long moment, before nodding. "Well, alright. Reckon that's good enough then."

As they continued on through the twists and turns that lay between sickbay and the airlock, Sulok at last inquired on what had troubled him the most during their conversation. Other than the extremely inappropriate nature of it, that is.

"Commander. I am curious." He said. "As the situation has long since been resolved why does it continue to trouble you? You seem unusually disturbed by events that have _not _occurred."

Henry frowned. "I ain't that kinda fellah, doc. I don't much like the idea of losing control of myself in the first place and sure as hell don't like that somebody else might be done wrong on account of it."

The commander was seemingly offended, which Sulok found fascinating. McArthur shrugged then. "Reckon I just feel better knowin' she'd smacked me down if I got outta hand, you know?"

At Sulok's continued stare, he responded further, clearly affronted. "Doc, what if it'd been you? _You _wouldn't feel the same way?"

"My preference would be for whatever resolution was most productive." Sulok insisted. "As it happens, I would agree with you that it would be better for the situation not to...'get out of hand'. However, it is clear that your individual motivations are…"

"Right. Okay, doc." Henry replied impatiently. "You agree, got it. Never mind motivations right now."

With a sharp nod forward, McArthur drew his attention ahead, where they were approaching within sight of the airlock. There they found Teval waiting, in the company of a clearly uneasy ship's steward. Sulok was immediately aware that most of the conversation he'd had with the commander had likely been overheard far down the halls.

It was obvious that the elder Vulcan was paying only the barest respects to protocol, waiting for the commanding officer to see him off the ship. Before they could properly arrive, he had already turned abruptly and entered the airlock, where his private shuttle awaited him. When they came at last to a full stop, staring after him, the airlock was already beginning to cycle and Teval was effectively gone.

After a moment Henry snorted, frowning. "Well. I can't even muster a proper feeling of personal offense here, doc. I'm just that glad the old bastard's off my damned ship."

Jerking a disdainful thumb at the airlock, Henry asked. "And anyhow, explain to me a people who are supposed to be all about logic and rationality producing a butthole like that?"

Sulok considered carefully before responding, somewhat put off by the commander's colorful language. "As we must develop personal discipline during our formative years, so it also begins to fail us in our elder days. Many older Vulcans have difficulty suppressing such minor displays of displeasure and disagreement. It is not unusual."

"Hmm." Henry considered, before smirking. "So you've got your grumpy old bastards too, then."

"Essentially." Sulok agreed. "Although, I must admit, many simply avail themselves of a convenient excuse for such behavior."

Henry grinned outright at that. "Same with us, doc. You oughta meet my grand pappy some day. Heart of gold but you'd never know it they way he carries on sometimes." Henry slapped on hand to his thigh sharply. "Right. Well, we're done here. You get on back to sickbay and I'm headin' for the bridge, try to get the captain back quick and us the hell out of here…"

"But, uh…" He paused, furrowing his brow for a moment. "One more thing I gotta ask you about, doc." Henry glanced quickly both ways down the hall, assuring himself it was clear before continuing.

"This 'pond far' thing." He said, in a subdued tone. "Any worry this is gonna hit the captain any time in the next few years?"

Sulok simply stared, projecting stony disapproval as strongly as he figured he could get away with, considering McArthur was, technically, a superior officer. He'd already violated several tenets of proper behavior with the conversation they'd _just _had. _This _was simply going much too far.

Henry frowned. "I ain't trying to get into anyone's personal business out of pure nosiness here, doc. I seen what this did to that girl before. That could have been a heck of a lot more serious than it was, real easy. Like you pointed out, I damned near got myself beat down. Probably would have, given just another minute or two."

"Now." He continued. "Captain says it's 'many decades' before she's gotta contend with this but if there's _any _possibility this is gonna present itself around here _ever_, I need to know about it. Well in advance, if I can."

Sulok pondered the matter for a moment before deciding to defer. "Very well." He replied. "I cannot say for certain, nor project with acceptable accuracy. Captain Tucker is a hybrid and, to my knowledge, the first of her kind. As such she will approach her time before any other recorded Human/Vulcan hybrid that I am aware of. And so there is no prior documentation or experience that I can draw upon."

Sulok drew a breath. "However." He said. "I would say that she is correct in her estimate. Unmated Vulcan females are usually well into the their sixth or seventh decade before their time comes, while those who are mated may come to time earlier, especially if one's mate is himself much older. For Captain Tucker, I would estimate much the same, although the effects of her human half cannot be confidently known. As humans exist in a state of very mild _plak tow _almost consistently from puberty, it is difficult to assess whether this will hasten or delay her time. Or whether it will have any effect at all."

"But, I would estimate no less than three decades and no more than five, which it would seem the captain indicated when she referenced 'many decades'. Furthermore, there are clear signs well in advance of impending _plak tow _if one is aware of them. It is not a condition that approaches unannounced."

Henry frowned. "Doc, that little girl wasn't far past twenty, so I reckon your math's off a bit. You sure about that?"

"Vulcan age is difficult to assess from physical appearance." Sulok corrected. "Especially if you are used to estimating the age of fellow humans in that manner. She may have appeared to be in only her twenties to your perceptions but she is very likely _your _senior by as many as twenty or thirty years."

Henry was shocked at that. "You mean that was an old woman? Sure as hell didn't _seem _like it, doc."

Sulok cocked an eyebrow up then. "Hardly. In Vulcan years, this would be the equivalent of her 'twenties' in physical maturity but overall, especially psychological and emotional development, she was nonetheless your elder by a wide margin. In fact, it is doubtful that she would have found you appealing in that regard, even in the grips of _plak tow_."

"Hmm. Alright, if you say so." Henry muttered. "Though, damned if you folks don't do everything in as confusin' a manner as possible." He shook his head then before continuing. "So no worries anything like this is gonna pop up with the captain then, have I got that right?"

"No difficulties of that nature." Sulok assured. "I will submit that this is not an area of concern."

Which was great. Except that Henry found, to his surprise, that he was a little disappointed. But he decided to drop _that _line of thought double quick.

Except...something _else _about that didn't sit right.

"Okay...what do you mean 'difficulties of _that _nature'?" He asked. "You got something else in mind you ain't mentioned?"

At Sulok's pause, McArthur decided he had better revert to good old fashioned gruffness. "If there's something' else you ain't sayin', doc, you'd best give it up. Don't make me come lookin' to skin your hide two years from now because of something' you shoulda…"

"Commander, excuse me." Sulok interjected. "There is nothing in particular that concerns me. Merely the captain's Human/Vulcan nature. Quite frankly, it disturbs me that you seek my insights here. I know nothing of such hybrids and, as I have said, there is little evidence to draw upon to form any further conclusions. Even my estimations lack confidence."

Henry frowned. "You aren't just covering your butt here, are you doc? I'm not asking you to put anything down and sign your name to it here. She's pretty much Vulcan. And you're a Vulcan doctor. I don't see the problem."

"I believe you are mistaken, commander." Sulok argued. "She may behave in a Vulcan manner, or at least attempt to, but she is not Vulcan. Nor, in fact, can she be said to be Human either. She is something else entirely. Considering the natures of our respective peoples, an amalgam of the two would, I can only assume, produce an exceeding volatile individual. Very likely, this is why she embraces Vulcan discipline."

Henry considered that for a bit. And found it did not suit him at all. No, not one bit.

"So, you ain't got no idea what…but you're expecting _some _kind of trouble eventually. Is that it?"

"To establish my point, commander." Sulok replied. "Perhaps you have not noticed, but her blood is red. Not green. This, I would think, illustrates the reason for my concern."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note:_

_Apologies for the hideously long delay but, ironically enough considering where we left off here, I've been in the hospital off and on. Not the entire time, you understand, but long enough and often enough that any work on this story was a good ten lines down the list of things I hadn't the time or energy for._

_But now I do. So let's see what we can do with this thang._

_

* * *

_

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

**_Shir Kahr_**

Out the starboard window of the shuttle pod, T'Pril could see there were far too many people waiting for them at the landing pad. A liaison representing the institute perhaps, someone to represent the medical staff themselves, maybe…at most there should be two or three persons awaiting them below. Including Ensign Rodriguez, who didn't seem to be in attendance. Only twenty feet in the air, though descending quickly, it wasn't difficult to fully assess the situation before the shuttle touched down.

"Ensign P'Trell, there are in excess of thirty individuals awaiting us here." She said, plainly. "That is far too many to be considered normal."

He was already out of his seat and peering out the shuttle door window before she finished speaking.

"In that case…" He said, turning to fetch a phase pistol from the nearby locker. "If you would allow Ensign West and I to exit the shuttle first, Captain?"

"Very well." T'Pril nodded.

T'Pril stood aside, allowing West to move up behind P'Trell as he opened the shuttle door. She could feel the air pressure in the shuttle plummet as the excess was sucked away by the Vulcan atmosphere. And the heat that rushed in to replace it…

She was, to be honest, quite surprised. The heat washing over her…that really wasn't anything she wasn't used to. Vulcans back home, her mother included, routinely maintained room temperatures only somewhat lower than this whenever Humans or Centaurans weren't around.

The lower air pressure and oxygen in the atmosphere, though…already surrounding her, assaulting her…

She'd felt the planet snatch perhaps half the breath right out of her lungs, in less than a moment. And the gravity…she hadn't even stepped outside yet but already she could feel the oppressive shift in weight, even through the open shuttle door.

And the smell. Burnt...sand, perhaps? Or…so many scents, all unknown yet somehow familiar…

It was all just…good.

As if she'd been tinkering with environmental settings in her quarters and had suddenly, by pure random chance, stumbled across the most perfect combination of precise settings…to produce…

Well, not comfort. It certainly wasn't at all comfortable. It was, physically at least, entirely disagreeable.

But, still…it felt…

"Captain?"

She blinked. P'Trell. Looking at her with concern from beyond the door.

She nodded and quickly exited the shuttle, casually moving to stand next to Ensign West. P'Trell remained behind her at the shuttle door, no doubt still assessing her. It was difficult to wrest awareness away from her environment in order to appraise the crowd before her. But she managed it, if barely.

Thankfully the majority seemed content to stand quietly at the edge of the landing pad and…observe, she assumed. Only one Vulcan had stepped forward to interact with them in any way.

Displaying the traditional greeting, she spoke directly to T'Pril. Apparently having waited for her to appear before moving up to speak.

"Captain Tucker. _Dif-tor heh smusma_." The woman intoned, displaying the Vulcan salute.

"_Sochya eh dif_." T'Pril replied, returning the greeting.

"_Amsetri tre_." The woman returned, with a slight bow. Making the polite, otherwise very traditional greeting between the two somewhat more eminent than T'Pril thought appropriate.

'Your presence honors us'? And bowing rather than a proper nod? The Vulcan version of 'laying it on thick', she supposed. She would almost wonder if the woman hadn't mistaken her for someone else, if she hadn't clearly identified her by name already.

"_I am Assistant Director V'Sen." _The woman continued, in Vulcan. "_Director Remel is away for the moment and is unable to greet you himself. He has asked that I assure you that his delay was unavoidable and is confident you will not hold the honor of the Institute accountable for his failure_."

T'Pril was almost, _almost_, tempted to frown. Of course. It was Alpha Centauri all over again. Every new Vulcan she encountered it seemed…

But here? On Vulcan? The very last thing she had expected.

And now the movement to her right, out of the corner of her eye. One of the Institute's staff there, already wielding a personal data device to snap a picture. Naturally setting off a wave among the others in attendance to do the same. Which elicited an audible shuffle from P'Trell behind her, of course, as he quickly assessed the crowd for anyone that might need to be shot at.

Two of the Vulcan staff even seemed to be capturing the moment on video.

"Your Flight Officer, Ensign Rodriguez, is also unfortunately delayed." V'Sen continued, speaking in English now for the benefit of the two other Starfleet officers. "Her recovery was taxing and has delayed her receiving final instructions. I will escort you and your officers there, if you will allow it."

"That will be agreeable, Assistant Director V'Sen." T'Pril replied. With a much more proper air of detachment than had been afforded _her _so far.

V'Sen bowed. Again. Then turned to gesture at the crowd behind her, parting them effortlessly to allow passage. T'Pril waited before actually moving forward, to give them time to step decidedly _away _from her path. One would think the average Vulcan could be trusted not to crowd anyone, even a notable person of any sort. But T'Pril had long since discovered that was hardly something one could rely upon.

Their path cleared well enough, T'Pril then followed V'Sen, sparing only a quick glance at her companions. West had followed immediately behind, seemingly too overcome by the environment to have noticed much of what had just occurred. She was sweating profusely already and even beginning to smell, T'Pril noticed.

P'Trell, bringing up the rear...seemed interestingly enough better acclimated than West. Though he wasn't bothering to hide the scowl on his face. She realized then that he'd been unprepared to deal with this situation, having underestimated her fame as well. The entirely too expressive look from the Security Officer communicated his opinion of her being there clearly enough.

Which begged the question…why _had _he insisted on coming along then?

* * *

P'Trell was more than happy to find the crowd of…_fans _that T'Pril's arrival had attracted at least had the good manners to remain outside. Except the Assistant Director, that is. She'd been practically babbling the whole time.

"…further, the Tucker clan itself, it cannot be denied, is a remarkable example of the principle of IDIC."

It didn't seem to have any effect at all on T'Pril but it was certainly grating on _his _nerves.

"I understand there are at least twenty different species in your clan, connected by blood and bond. One would assume such an arrangement inherently unstable and yet your clan continues to expand and grow in influence…"

"If you will excuse me, Assistant Director." T'Pril interrupted. "That is because our clan insists upon conformity to a common culture and creed. And so, not so apt an example of diversity as one might assume."

V'Sen paused at that but quickly pressed on. Probably excited that she'd finally gotten T'Pril's attention, Rexas thought.

"Clearly your clan embraces the principle of IDIC nonetheless. I would find it hard to believe otherwise, considering the evidence."

"Indeed we do." T'Pril replied. "A more rational application of the concept, however."

Now the Vulcan woman seemed almost eager. "Will you explain?"

"Certainly." T'Pril said, suddenly coming to a stop, turning her attention fully to V'Sen.

"Diversity exists because the universe is chaotic." She continued. "Survival requires adaptation, hence the diversity we witness in all things. For this reason, diversity is beneficial and worthy of celebration. Because an infinite universe provides infinite threats to survival we have an infinite selection of adaptations to chose from. That is a significant source of strength to draw upon. However, to attempt to apply diversity universally would simply replicate and magnify the chaos we seek to survive. That would be illogical."

V'Sen pondered that for a moment. And since that left the four of them standing in the middle of the hall, rather than retrieving their Flight Officer, P'Trell felt compelled to intervene.

"Captain…" He groused. And found himself instantly forestalled by a single raised hand, T'Pril still focused on the Assistant Director.

"I confess I do not comprehend." V'Sen replied at last. "It is commonly understood that IDIC is the very foundation of the Way of Surak…"

"It is not." T'Pril stated flatly. "IDIC is a relatively recent invention, applied to the Way incorrectly. Indeed, it should be obvious the Way itself presents a singular, intolerant path."

V'Sen's eyebrow twitched at that. "Intolerance to diversity? I fail to see the logic in that. Appreciation for infinite diversity is at the heart of Vulcan philosophy."

"Then Vulcan philosophy and the Way of Surak are at odds. Diversity is both a boon and a curse, conducive in truth only to itself."

V'Sen blinked surprise but managed to reply evenly. "Yet the Way of Surak is the pinnacle of Vulcan philosophy, is it not?"

"I would say not. There are many Vulcan philosophies. The Way of Surak is an adaptation to Vulcan nature, in the interests of survival." T'Pril replied.

"A survival technique?" V'Sen nearly exclaimed. "Clearly you minimize the depth of Surak's revelation."

"Not at all. This technique has assured Vulcan civilization, as well as the civilization of many other peoples. But we must bear in mind that, while it is good that the diversity of the universe allows for the Way of Surak, it is also diverse enough to have allowed for Vulcan savagery."

V'Sen did not immediately respond, so T'Pril continued.

"Discipline then is the foundation upon which the Way of Surak rests. There is no room for diversity in the Way."

P'Trell could see the Vulcan woman's mouth tighten. Well now, this was proving interesting...

"Yet there is logic in all things." V'Sen insisted. "Even the laws of physics suggest…"

"If you will excuse me…" T'Pril interrupted. "The concept of _ozhika-ek _was never spoken of by Surak and is falsely attributed to him. As the _Kir'Shara _clearly established. Indeed, it can be traced rather to the philosopher Tal-hon, who committed murder-suicide based on that philosophy."

V'Sen hesitated again. "Nevertheless, the principle is sound…"

"Certainly not. Were there logic in all things, it would behoove the Vulcan people to abandon the Way of Surak and embrace their true nature. As Tal-hon did."

V'Sen stared for a moment.

"I see." She said, rather coldly. "Captain Tucker, you should have little difficulty finding your way to Recovery Room 313. I will return to my duties. _Dif-tor heh smusma." _She offered the Vulcan salute in parting.

"_Dif-tor heh smusma, _Assistant Director V'Sen_." _T'Pril replied flatly.

And V'Sen was gone just that quickly. Rexas barely had time to blink before T'Pril proceeded down the hall, without any apparent concern. As if she hadn't just stomped all over the Assistant Director's core beliefs.

P'Trell hurried to catch up, ignoring for now West's attempt to catch his eye for some form of confirmation of what they'd both just witnessed.

After a moment, he decided to start testing the ice, so to speak.

"An…interesting perspective, Captain." He said, being sure to inject a measure of arrogance in his tone. Better to keep up appearances, after all.

"It is unfortunate the Assistant Director felt compelled to attend to her duties before I was able to conclude. She would have undoubtedly benefited."

"So there's more then?"

T'Pril spared him a telling glance. "Naturally. As it stands it must seem I have rejected the tenet of IDIC. Which is, of course, absurd."

Ah. So it has been intentional. And she wasn't about to admit it.

Which rather begged the question. _Why _tempt the Assistant Director to anger? What had been gained, other than...?

...other than leaving them on their own, without the supervision of any Institute personnel.

* * *

**Recovery Room 313**

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

Marisa peered a bit more closely at the image on the wall before her

"You mean the little squiggles here? Those are the…what, nerve clusters?" She asked, curiously.

"Indeed." Replied Sorkel, her assigned attendant. "As you can see, there is already a pronounced difference evident between the scans I've taken now and those conducted immediately prior to the procedure."

"That's…wow. _Chido!_ I didn't expect…I mean…that was pretty quick!" Marisa grinned widely at the attendant.

Then quickly realized her mistake.

"Oh." She said, looking away and adopting a more solemn expression. "I, uh…sorry…"

Sorkel held one hand up, a universal gesture of assurance. "Do not be concerned. I have worked with Humans before and understand the need for emotional expression. There is no offense where none is taken."

Well…would have been more believable if the guy's face wasn't so…_blank _when he said it.

"Uh…right." She nodded uncertainly. "Yeah. So…is there something I should do now? I mean…some follow-up or something…?"

"Doctor Sulok will receive a full medical data packet shortly." Sorkel replied, without so much as a facial twitch. "It will contain all information pertinent to your treatment. However, that will amount to little more than occasion physical inspections to detect regression, which you can expect to be extremely unlikely."

Marisa nodded. "So..."

"That concludes your instruction." Sorkel announced suddenly. "Your fellow officers have arrived. You may claim your belongings and depart now."

He raised his hand to salute her. "Live long and prosper, Ensign Rodriguez."

"Oh! Right. Uh…" She raised her hand in return, fumbling for a moment before getting the gesture right. "You, too, I guess. Thanks."

With a sharp nod, Sorkel turned and briskly departed. Leaving Marisa to frown a bit. She didn't take any offense herself so much or anything but she was definitely ready to "depart".

Vulcans, she had decided, irritate the hell out of her.

Then suddenly the captain was at her door, with P'Trell and West in tow. Oh, so _that's _what he'd meant.

"Hey! Captain!" Marisa grinned brightly. Really more relieved to be able to appropriately express some sort of emotion again.

"I trust you are fully recovered, Ensign?" T'Pril inquired.

"Yeah, looks like." Marisa grinned. She clapped her hands together lightly. "Guess we can get out of here…?" She asked, hopefully.

"It would seem. Gather your…"

T'Pril noticed Ensign West's near vibratory state beside her. Undoubtedly barely suppressing the impulse to bound about the room and express her affection for Rodriguez. Who…on second glance seemed to be barely suppressing much the same herself.

"Gather your gear, after you have greeted your fellow officers."

The two were hugging and chattering at one another before she'd properly finished speaking. Ensign P'Trell at least appeared to be in control of himself, so she turned to him. Partly to avoid the obscene display.

"Ensign P'Trell, escort West and Rodriguez to the shuttle once they are prepared to depart. I will join you there shortly."

With that she turned sharply away, hoping she could avoid questions...

"Where you are going, Captain?"

She replied casually, over one shoulder, as she walked away. "There is a family acquaintance in residence…"

But suddenly the absolute lie she'd prepared just didn't seem acceptable to her. Granted, she was willing to exercise misdirection from time to time, when it was logical to do so, but…to engage in direct falsehood for convenience sake…

No. She was simply unwilling to do that. So she stopped and turned to answer more properly.

"There is a matter I must attend to. I will meet you shortly." She assured. "At the shuttle."

"I'll accompany you, Captain." He answered, already moving to do so.

"Ensign P'Trell, it appears you are still armed." She said quickly, noting the phase pistol at his hip. "I do not think it would be appropriate for you to proceed any further. Return to the shuttle with Ensigns West and Rodriguez…"

"Not a problem, Captain." He said, removing the pistol and holster from his waist, handing them to Ensign West.

Who had begun to notice something was going on. Just as Rodriguez already had.

"Ensign P'Trell." She announced, with a bit more authority this time. "Your dedication is acknowledged but your assistance will not be required. You will return to the shuttle with Ensigns West and Rodriguez."

Rexas stared calmly back, unmoved. "Is that an order, Captain? The regulations are very clear. A minimum of two ground crew at all…"

"Very well." She interrupted. "Ensign West, Rodriguez, return to the shuttle and prep for launch. Ensign P'Trell and I will meet you there shortly."

She turned and strode away, as if entirely unconcerned whether or not Ensign P'Trell followed. Leaving West and Rodriguez to stare after them until they turned the corner down the hall and disappeared.

"Um…" Remarked West. "What the hell was that?"

Rodriguez shook her head, leaning against the doorframe. "Dunno. Some kind of trouble with those two recently?"

West shrugged. "Not that I know of. No more than usual, I mean. It's not like they're best friends or anything."

"Hmph." Rodriguez snorted. "Then the Captain's up to something."

West sighed, shaking her head. "And Rex is sticking his nose in it."

Rodriguez grinned and turned to her. "Rex, huh? So what's the latest with you two?"

"God! Nothing!" West exclaimed. "No time for _anything_! Maybe…you know, flirting a bit here and there. But this is probably the first I've stood still for five whole minutes this month. Who has the time?"

Rodriguez shook her head, still grinning. "Told yah you'd end up humping in a closet."

"I wish." West muttered.

Marisa smirked. "Well, speaking of which, we better _stop _standing still and get outta here."

* * *

Captain Tucker hadn't slowed down a step, clearly knowing just where she intended to go. Which left P'Trell feeling more as if he were pursuing her than accompanying.

Until they had, it would seem, finally arrived. Room…12? If he was translating the digits right. Personal quarters probably, according to the layout of the wall map they'd passed. The one she hadn't so much as spared a glance at.

After staring at the door for a long moment, giving somewhat the impression she expected it to behave in an untoward manner, she turned to him at last. The first time she'd acknowledged his presence since they left Rodriguez' recovery room.

"Ensign P'Trell, you will wait here." She said simply.

"With all respect, Captain, regulations are clear…" He denied.

"Nevertheless." She answered. "And this you may consider an order."

Which left him precisely no wiggle room. Although it confirmed his suspicions that she was up to _something _that she didn't want to draw attention to, else she'd have made it an order before.

T'Pril turned directly to the keypad at the door then, tapping in a code quickly. So…she had the code to someone's personal quarters? In the Vulcan Medical Institute? On Vulcan, where she'd never been before in her life until today?

Ah…apparently not…

T'Pril was already tapping in the code a _second _time…still failing to unlock the door. And suddenly seeming at a loss…

Hmm.

P'Trell stepped forward then, delivering an abrupt forward kick that slammed the heel of his boot forcefully into the wall. Directly beneath the keypad, by precisely twice its height. Something snapped audibly within, clinking as it slipped down the interior of the wall.

"The hydraulics are probably on the left side there." He said casually, nodding in the right direction.

To her credit, the Captain stared for only a moment before turning to examine the door again. In short order she'd dislodged the snap-on frame, yanked the metal tube free and snapped the frame back into place before hydraulic fluid could douse her. He had his multi-tool in hand by then, the titanium flathead already extended and ready.

He offered it to her. "You're stronger than I am, I assume. It's not ideal but unless you want to use your fingernails…"

She took the tool without comment and began wedging it into the door, jimmying about until she could squeeze her fingers in and pull the door firmly aside by hand. Returning it, she still hadn't met his eyes.

P'Trell may not have had much experience with Vulcans…or Humans…that didn't involving killing or injuring them in some manner…but he knew guilt when he saw it. This was clearly not where the Captain wanted to be at the moment. And especially not with a witness.

"Wait outside." She ordered, though somewhat subdued. "Do your best to…appear casual." She entered the room.

"Yes, of course, Captain." He replied through the door after her. "An Andorian standing about in the halls of the Vulcan Medical Institute. I'll be over here…blending in."

Frowning, he did his best anyway, moving down the hall a few steps to the wall map. There he busied himself examining it closely, trying to simultaneously appear to be lost and keep this antennae on the door to that room.

* * *

After nearly fifteen minutes, T'Pril was beginning to reassess the wisdom of bringing Ensign P'Trell along. As opposed to Ensign West, that is. Who had significantly more skill and experience at computer hacking than she. She was beginning to suspect the Romulan sympathizer was wary enough to keep the data stored separately from the communications console somehow. She could certainly find no sign of it anywhere within.

The décor of the small room had proven quite suggestive the moment she'd entered. The peculiar skull and facial muscle models on the three prints adorning the walls. The books and data disks on the shelf, most obviously. Considering the remarks that Agent Harnes had made, it was readily apparent how the man was of such use to the Romulans. He was a reconstructive surgeon.

Which…now that she considered all of that…

A quick glance around and she spotted the thing she'd failed to recognize the significance of during her first inspection. The hardbound book on the shelf above the console.

"_The Teachings of Surak_."

Yes, of course. Very humorous.

Snatching the volume from the shelf and opening it…there it was. Nestled within a…_disgusting gash_…carved into Surak's teachings. A miniature data drive, certainly containing not only the encryption system but likely all the software and hardware necessary for the task of issuing coded subspace communications. The console here was probably superfluous to the process. One need only plug the device into the data port there, override the console's normal operating system…

"_Vi-du? Ro-du than…?"_

She didn't need to look up to know exactly who stood in the doorway now, questioning her. But she did anyway, if only to know the face of the one who had mutilated Surak's wisdom to hide the tool with which he betrayed his people…

Not _this _man's people. _Surak's _people. This man, whatever his blood, was no more Vulcan than the Andorian in the hall. He'd given up any such claim with his first traitorous act for the Romulan Empire.

Correction. The Andorian no longer in the hall but now standing in the doorway blocking the man's escape.

T'Pril snapped the book shut sharply, one-handed, to distract his attention back away from P'Trell to her. But he'd recognized the danger he was in already.

A quick glance at the shelf on the far wall and T'Pril knew where he was heading when he quickly leaned and stepped. But P'Trell, yet again displaying a reaction speed exceptional even for a well-trained Andorian soldier, was already diving, tackling and flying past her with a double armful of the yelping traitor.


	7. Chapter 7

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"Commander." Ensign Summers announced. "Shuttle One on approach, requesting permission to dock."

"Granted." McArthur responded, distracted. "Reel her in, Summers." He continued to study the maintenance report on the command chair armrest display. Until…

"Wait…" Henry frowned. "What the hell took her so long?"

"Sir?" She asked, perplexed.

Henry scowled back at her.

"Ensign Stone. Shuttle One." He grumped. "Try to keep up here, Summers."

"Oh. Vulcan Air Control, sir." She replied. "Their interface vectors are a little…ah…"

"Vulcan, sir." Achilla offered from Tactical. "Logic over expedience."

"Well…essentially that, sir." Summers smiled.

McArthur nodded, accepting.

"Well, no. Not exactly." Hsiao argued, at the Helm. "Vulcan has a few planetary anomalies they have to work around…"

When everyone began staring at him, he hastened to add. "Dampening fields, for example. Easy to avoid coming down but when you're trying to get escape velocity...especially in Vulcan gravity..." He shrugged.

McArthur frowned in earnest now. "We got an ETA on Shuttle Two yet, Summers?" He asked.

"No, sir. No report yet."

"Shouldn't be long, though, sir." Achilla Trindi supplied, nodding at the Tactical station before her.

"How's that, Trindi'?" Henry shot back.

"I still have Shuttle Two on overwatch, sir." She supplied. "Two of them returned to the shuttle a few minutes ago."

"Who?" He asked, turning to her.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't zoom in enough to tell." Achilla shrugged. "P'Trell wasn't one of them, though."

Henry simply grunted and looked expectantly at Summers, who promptly went to work.

"Shuttle Two, Vigilant." Summers demanded. "Report."

The response was quick.

"_Vigilant, Shuttle Two. Rodriguez_." Marisa's voice replied. "_Shuttle prepped for departure, awaiting all aboard._"

A quick glance at McArthur…yeah, that hadn't made him happy…

"Shuttle Two, ETA?" Summers continued.

"_Uh…Vigilant, not at this time."_

McArthur turned off the command chair display screen with a snap and stood up.

"Gimme here, Summers." He grunted.

She tapped the open channel bar and nodded, rather glad to be out of the line of fire all of a sudden.

"Shuttle Two, Command. What's the hold up down there?"

"_Vigilant, uh…awaiting all aboard." _Marisa responded promptly. _"Captain Tucker and Ensign P'Trell, EVA._"

"Shuttle Two," Henry snapped. "EVA doing the hell what exactly?"

"_Vigilant, couldn't say, sir."_

Well. That was just plain unsatisfactory.

"Shuttle Two, Command. Code comm." He growled, nodding to Summers.

She tapped the channel bars, transferring to a secure, encrypted channel.

"_Vigilant, Shuttle Two_. _Code comm, go ahead_."

"Shuttle Two, am I to understand you don't know where the hell your commanding officer is?"

…

"_Uh…Vigilant, that's affirmative."_

McArthur gritted his teeth. "Summers, get me the Captain."

Summers practically attacked the console, wanting very much to get herself back out of the way again. Clearly McArthur was about to get unpleasant.

"Shuttle Two, Vigilant. Stand by." Summers said. "Vigilant to Captain Tucker."

…

Nothing.

"Vigilant to Captain Tucker, respond."

…

Nothing.

Then….

"_Vigilant, Tucker. Go ahead." _

_Whew_. She tapped the bar and nodded, letting McArthur take over again.

"Captain, Command." Henry said tightly. "Status?"

"_Vigilant, we are in transit. Tucker out."_

Dead air.

McArthur's jaw tightened.

_Oh, boy. _Thought Ensign Summers. _Here we go._

_

* * *

_

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

**_Shir Kahr_**

T'Pril pocketed her communicator and glanced behind her at P'Trell.

"Ensign, proceed more expeditiously." She advised.

She finished adjusting the disfigured "_Teachings of Surak_" and the extremely illegal subspace comm device in the meantime. She wanted them both well in view of security when they discovered the bound traitor behind her.

In a moment her scan of the device would be complete. She'd already copied the encryption program.

"Just a couple more..." P'Trell grunted, still in the process of binding the unconscious Vulcan. With his own bed linen, no less. It was the only material available sufficient for the task.

Finished with her own efforts and a full scan of the device now stored in her tricorder, T'Pril turned to assess his progress more directly.

After a moment…"That will do, Ensign." She nodded.

"With respect, Captain, he's Vulcan." P'Trell grumbled. "Or did you miss the fight?"

Indeed, P'Trell had quite obviously won but had done so while hoisted well off his feet, against the wall. One-handed, in fact. The traitor's other arm broken in the initial assault, else the outcome would likely have been less certain. Still, he'd managed to render the traitor unconscious before T'Pril could even secure the hidden phaser he'd been after.

"Nevertheless." She replied. "These linen are _khara_ weave. That will be quite sufficient to restrain him."

With a muttered expletive in Andorian, Rexas shoved the still unconscious man away, allowing him to slump to the floor in an undignified position. Once on his feet he nodded sharply.

T'Pril proceeded out the door with P'Trell following, exhibiting no discernible sign that he'd fought for his life only minutes before. His uniform wasn't even especially disturbed.

"Did we get what we came for, Captain?" He asked, with a smirk.

"Indeed." She assured.

She waited but no further questions were forthcoming. And while grateful for that she doubted it was anything more than a temporary reprieve.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two**

**Vulcan Medical Institute**

They waited a full three minutes before they began to suspect Summers had just forgotten about them. So Marisa finally worked up the nerve and tapped the channel bar.

"Ah…Vigilant, Shuttle Two. Nothing heard."

A short pause.

"_Shuttle Two, Vigilant. Nothing more." _

She let out a breath of relief, though really she wouldn't mind knowing what was going on up there. But McArthur had obviously gotten a burr up his butt about something and the less she had to do with that the better.

It was quiet in the shuttle for a moment.

"You ever get the feeling you're in trouble but don't quite know how?" Jenny asked.

Marisa looked over at her, considering a moment.

"Worse." She frowned at last. "I'm kind of getting used to that feeling."

"Okay, what is going _on_!" Jenny exclaimed. She jumped up and moved to the shuttle pod door. Peering out, she grumbled, "Where _are _they?"

"Well, the Captain's doing something she didn't want us to know about…"

"And the Commander's mad, so he didn't know either." Jenny finished.

Marisa wondered. "So did _P'Trell _know?"

Jenny pondered that for a moment.

"I think when the Captain ran the Assistant Director off, that's when he figured it out. At least, I hope." Jenny said. "I should have then. But I was more worried about you."

Marisa looked at her speculatively.

Glancing back, Jenny caught the look. "Right. You weren't there." She said. "The Captain started some kind of philosophy debate right in the middle of the hall on our way to get you. Ended up…well, pretty much insulted the whole Vulcan race or something. At least I think so. The Assistant Director got angry and stormed off, anyway."

Marisa was surprised. "Got mad? And stormed off? The Assistant Director of the Institute?"

Jenny nodded, looking out the window. "It was something to see. The Captain…well, I don't know. She's...I couldn't even follow what they were talking about." She turned back to Marisa.

Who was still staring, shocked.

"Yeah." Jenny nodded. "She had her…what's her name, V'Sen? Spitting mad in two minutes flat."

Marisa shook that one off with some effort, pondering furiously.

"Okay, what the heck _is _going on here?" She murmured to herself.

"They're coming." Jenny announced from the shuttle door.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"_Vigilant, Shuttle Two." _Marisa's voice broke across the silent bridge.

Summers jumped. "Shuttle Two, Vigilant. Go ahead."

"_Vigilant, all aboard. We have departure clearance, sending vectors. Can you confirm?"_

"Shuttle Two, stand by." Summers went to work quickly tracking the vectors Vulcan Air Control had provided. Trying to ignore Commander McArthur's breathing down her neck for the moment.

"Shuttle Two, Vigilant. Vectors confirmed. You have overwatch. ETA?"

"_Vigilant, ETA is 1 hour, 15 minutes." _She reported.

"Give me overwatch here, Chilly." McArthur ordered quietly, gesturing at the main viewscreen.

"Sir." Acknowledged Ensign Trindi, patching the video feed through.

Henry watched Shuttle Two taking off from the south landing pad of the Vulcan Medical Institute. His jaw still clenched tight.

"Put me through, Summers. Code comm." Henry said flatly. Summers tapped a command into her console.

"Shuttle Two, Vigilant. Stand by for Command, code comm."

"_Vigilant, code comm. Go ahead, Command." _Marisa confirmed.

"Captain Tucker, Command." Henry said. "Do you have anything further to report, ma'am?"

A long pause.

Then T'Pril's reply.

"_Nothing to report, Command." _

McArthur let that stew for a few seconds.

"Very well. Standing by to receive you. Command out." He said at last.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two**

**Vulcan Interface**

Marisa just focused on flying.

West frowned at everyone. Either trying to work up the nerve to ask what was going on or trying to figure out just exactly _how _to ask.

P'Trell sat comfortably, looking quite amused with himself. Or amused with somebody anyway.

Captain Tucker was as blank a slate as ever. But the way she'd answered Commander McArthur…and the way he'd asked what he'd asked for that matter…

Well, if she didn't know any better…if everyone involved had been Human…she'd be certain McArthur and Tucker were _chaca chaca_. And that the Captain just got caught running off to hump P'Trell.

And…well, that was just _loco_.

But it was also the only thing she could come up with that fit.

So yeah, Marisa decided she'd just focus on flying. Eyes front. Plenty to occupy herself with here on the console. _No meterse en líos_. That was going to have to be her new motto. Stay out of trouble. At least until this whole thing blew over anyway, whatever it was. Can't expect somebody to _live _like that.

And besides, she was way over due for getting good and properly laid herself. So that probably had a lot to do with it.

Then Jenny suddenly found her mark.

"Captain…" She said, turning in her seat to face her more directly. "I think you need to let us in on what's going on here."

Oh, yes. Focus on flying. But maybe we can spare _one _ear…

T'Pril cocked her head slightly to the side, whether considering or listening Jenny couldn't tell. So she plowed ahead.

"Right now I'm thinking you have some kind of medical condition you wanted to consult someone about. Something you wanted kept private." She said. "And if that's the case, then I don't want to intrude on your privacy…"

Huh. Marisa hadn't even thought of that. That made more sense. See, now? She really needed to get laid. It was doing her brain damage.

"But if it _isn't _something like that, something private or personal, then it seems to have stirred up a lot of trouble."

Jenny waited a beat in case the Captain wanted to jump in anywhere…but she didn't.

"I mean…you intentionally provoked the Assistant Director back there…"She continued. "You forced P'Trell to be almost insubordinate to keep you from going off on your own and Commander McArthur sure seems to be overreacting to the whole thing, which suggests there's more going on there besides."

Another beat.

"I can give you a logical argument if you like, Captain…"

"Excuse me, Ensign." T'Pril said at last. "That will not be necessary."

Jenny was almost surprised. "It won't?"

"Indeed." T'Pril replied. "I was already in the process of determining the most effective response to alleviate this situation. When we return to the Vigilant I will call a staff meeting of all senior officers and explain what has occurred."

"Oh." Replied Jenny.

A pause.

"Suppose you can let me and Marisa in on it now?" She asked. "Since we're already here?"

_Ha! _Marisa decided then and there that she really admired Jenny. The girl had brass in her ass.

T'Pril actually seemed to be considering it. Enough that Marisa decided she could divide her attention between flying and a little bit of exposition after all.

Having come to a decision, T'Pril turned in her seat as well, facing West directly herself.

"I received information prior to our departure from Jupiter Station that an individual residing at the Medical Institute was in possession of a Romulan encryption device. Which he used to relay intelligence to them. I was offered the opportunity to retrieve it."

Whoa. _Que chingados_?

"Who did you receive that information from?" West asked.

"That is precisely the question I attempted to avoid by procuring the device alone." T'Pril replied. "And so I will respond now as I realize I should have originally, had I properly informing the senior staff of my intentions. By not answering."

Jenny frowned at that…but recognized there probably wasn't anything she could say to it.

"So did you get it?" She asked instead.

"Indeed." T'Pril said simply.

Jenny suddenly turned around swiftly to confront P'Trell. "You couldn't let us in on this, Rex? Don't you think we needed to know?" It was clear she was hurt by the perceived betrayal.

P'Trell raised a hand in supplication. "I didn't know myself until now, _vithi_." He assured. "I knew only that the Captain intended something, not what. And even that only just before she made the attempt."

West slumped back in her seat then to think it over.

"Well, I'm not going to ask to see it." She said at last. "But what are we going to do with it now that we've got it? Turn it over to Starfleet Intel?"

"Disposition of the device has already been arranged." T'Pril replied. "However, I intend to forward a full scan and a copy of the encryption algorithm to Starfleet Intelligence."

"So Starfleet Intel _isn't _your source…"

Marisa realized suddenly that a warning indicator was flashing on her console. Trying to draw her attention to something she should have already noticed.

Giving it her attention finally, she realized she probably should have focused on flying after all.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"Hm…Commander…" Achilla hesitated. "Probably nothing, but…"

"Spill it, Chilly." Henry ordered, when she dithered a second too long.

"Well, I've got a contact about 100k out from Shuttle Two." She said. "Just came out of nowhere."

Henry sat up straighter at that. "What do you mean 'came out of nowhere'?" He demanded.

"Looks like…" Her hands played across the Tactical console for a moment. "I guess they were over the Forge until just now. Above the dampening field there, so they didn't show on passive sensors…"

"What's it _doing_, Ensign?"

"Just…moving the same general direction as Shuttle Two…three quarter speed…" She replied. "Looks like…standard civilian shuttle. Almost on intercept, but not quite."

"Scan it."

"Sir?" Trindi said, surprised.

"You heard me, Ensign."

"Yes, sir…"

"Commander." Summer supplied. "Vulcan Air Control might not appreciate…"

"They'll get over it. Trindi?"

"Having some trouble, sir…" Achilla was biting her lip now, trying to get the scan to make any sense…

"You accountin' for atmo deflection, Chilly?"

"Damn! Sorry, sir. Hold on…"

Ride it all to hell. Chilly was supposed to be third Tactical. Barely knew how to find theTactical Station, much less how to operate it. She was _security_, not bridge Tac'. But they had no second and Rexas, damn his hide, was off gallivantin' with the Captain…

"Their armed, Sir!" She exclaimed. "Some kind of missile! I think…"

"Confirm, Ensign!"

"Uh…confirmed. Low grade missile system…"

"Sum'bitch!" He exclaimed. "Tactical alert. Power weapons, lock on 'em."

"I…yes, sir." Achilla acknowledged. "Sir, I'm third Tac…"

"Shut up and do it, Chilly. Summers, warn Shuttle Two, then contact Vulcan Air Control and notify them."

"_Tactical alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!"_

"Helm, tie in with Tac'. Help her out."

"Yes, sir." Hsiao replied tightly, hands playing across his console.

"Sir, VAC wants to know why we're…" Summers began.

"Tell 'em, dammit!" Henry barked. "Report, Tac!"

"Uh…they're on intercept with Shuttle Two now…" Achilla was begin to sweat. "Oh, god! They just fired on Shuttle Two!"

"Focus, Chilly. Get me that lock!" Henry ordered.

"Yes, sir!…Sir, we can't fire into Vulcan airspace…" She began.

"_Now_, Chilly!"


	8. Chapter 8

**NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two**

**Vulcan Interface**

_Shuttle Two _screamed through the thin air, trailing fuel and smoke from the still burning missile strike to port. Inertial dampeners were utterly failing to compensate for the loss of pressure and totally shot-to-hell aerodynamics. She was flying a damned burning brick.

A burning brick that couldn't even make up its mind where its center of gravity was.

But she had to break that missile lock. Any minute now impulse engines were going to fail and they'd drop like a rock…

In the rear compartment, Jenny was a bloody mess. Marisa had spared only a glimpse but could guess what had happened. The gaping, screaming hole in the wall back there being the obvious culprit. P'Trell was busy with her at the moment, though doing what, she couldn't see. And she didn't want to spare the thought of just how badly poor Jenny was hurt...or whether an Andorian even knew what to do with an injured Human.

T'Pril had naturally ignored all of that and, ever efficient, begun juggling communication with Vulcan Air Control, monitoring sensors and powering up the shuttle's only phase cannon. And announcing that the shuttle's already pathetic hull polarization was nothing more than a warm, fuzzy memory.

Marisa hated it. She _hated _it. But…

"P'Trell, I need you on this phase cannon!" She yelled.

"West is injured." P'Trell's firm reply.

"We're all gonna die if you don't come kill this _pedajo_!" She retorted.

"Then let me know when you have something to shoot at!" P'Trell snapped back.

_Okay. Bueno. Fine_.

Marisa yanked the shuttle into what would otherwise have been a mad, thoroughly out of control, spin to port. But with her current profile and all the forces at work overlapping one another…she barely managed a hard turn.

_Simultaneously drop impulse for two seconds…shove her belly into the all too thin Vulcan atmosphere…and now everything, poured into that hard turn…_

"Negative lock." T'Pril announced calmly, her voice barely audible over the howling in the cabin.

Marisa pulled up, dropping back on impulse, engaging thrusters that were never designed or intended to operate in atmosphere, even as thin as this…spinning…impulse engines flaring again…

And now that _puta _was dead ahead, coming fast…

T'Pril grunted, recovering from the forces that had just slammed into them all. A discrete beep from the console…

"Target has lock." She announced. "Disengage, ensign."

"Get a lock on him!" Marisa insisted. _Why wasn't she firing?_

Then P'Trell was there and Shuttle Two's lone phase cannon lanced out, swiping at the enemy shuttle. Once, twice. Now _they _were trailing smoke…flashing past them to starboard…

Marisa grinned tightly. _Ha! Surprise, culero!_

She slapped at the port thruster controls, to come about hard, _now_, while she still had a chance of keeping them off her ass…

…and found her wrist locked in a vice grip. By T'Pril.

"Disengage, ensign." She said sternly. "We cannot break atmosphere and Ensign West is injured. We must land."

"We can't do that while they're shooting at us!" Marisa argued.

T'Pril let go and pointed quickly out the shuttle window ahead.

"There." She said. "Between those two peaks. Maintain 1500 feet, drop to 600 immediately on the far side."

"They'll blow us out of the sky before we can even…!" She insisted.

"They will not." T'Pril insisted, her eyes locked with Marisa's. "And you will obey orders, Ensign."

The enemy shuttle was already coming about out there, she knew. It would be locking on at any moment…her choice was clear…obey orders and die stupidly or kill that _pedejo _jerk before he killed them…

Marisa slammed one fist down on the flight console. _"Hijo de puta, pinche, piruja madre, mamadas, vete el carajo!" _She cursed.

Marisa stabbed at her console viciously, driving the nose of the shuttle down, aiming for the twin peaks where she was sure she was going to die.

What a joke. She spent five years dying, traveled light years for a miraculous cure and now _this_. She should have skipped all that and just got laid one good time.

* * *

**_Cheleb'khor_**

**Vulcan**

Kelet lightly patted the neck of the _ashevi _plodding along beside him with the butt of his spear, prompting it to come to a halt. The strap holding the string of water jugs on that side had begun to slip again, he had noticed. As he moved to adjust the strap, tightening it into place, he pondered how best to resolve the matter.

It would be logical to replace the entire system of webbing, he reasoned, rather than pay a tradesman to repair the fitting itself. More expensive initially perhaps but more efficient in the long run.

It was not a matter of convenience. Life itself was inconvenient and such minor difficulties served a purpose. Rather, it caused the _ashevi _unnecessary stress for the load it bore to shift unexpectedly so often and constantly having to stop for adjustments provoked it to irritation. To utilize beasts of burden one must take on the responsibility of good stewardship.

Therefore, he would suffer the added expense of purchasing an entirely new system of webbing. In the end, the aid the _ashevi _offered well justified the expense and he maintained a responsible level of care for the animal in return. Further, he had become aware of a new model of webbing that should fit much more comfortably about the beast's torso, which was not prohibitively expensive. The logic then seemed clear.

Having adjusted the strap sufficiently into place for now, he tapped the beast on the neck again with his spear. At their current rate of travel they should be able to reach the next _kahs-wan _hostel well before dusk tomorrow, so he reasoned it acceptable to drive the _ashevi _at a more leisurely pace from here on.

L'vell, his sehlat companion, suddenly bounded over the nearby dune, approaching at a lope. Kelet could sense immediately that she was disturbed. Once she came close enough he reached out to comfort her and inquire what had her so unsettled. If it had been a _le-matya _or other predator she would have signaled him from afar rather than coming to seek comfort. So surely, then, something unusual…

Ah…something in the sky? Not a sandstorm or any other environmental threat. Clearly something she was unfamiliar with. Her sense of the matter was disturbed and unclear, however.

A distant whistling from the east drew his attention away from L'vell, though he continued to send comfort and peace through his touch.

Interesting. A shuttle seemed to have suffered damage and was in the process of crash landing to the east. As he watched he wondered at the logic the pilot displayed. They were clearly expending significant effort in delaying the crash until they had passed the Peaks of T'Ris. To purposefully land a shuttle, damaged or not, within the Forge rather than outside the natural dampening field lacked any logic at all that he could perceive.

He wondered, in fact, if the pilot was aware that the mountain range to the east contained such heavy deposits of iron and gallicite. And so, naturally, the dampening field tended to be sympathetic to the range, extending further into the atmosphere there than elsewhere…

Ah, yes, apparently. They did indeed seem to be compensating, rising just above the reach of the field, flying high above the peaks and dropping down again on the far side. Though that hardly explained the matter of choosing the Forge for a crash site in the first place.

All the _more _interesting…

Another shuttle seemed to be following, itself heavily damaged and also apparently attempting to…but, no. They seemed to be in pursuit of the first. The two were engaged in combat then? This would explain the missile the second vessel had just fired.

An example of violent impulse so easily overcoming reason, Kelet supposed. Had the pilot of the second vessel maintained logic and engaged in combat more rationally, he would likely have recognized the missile would pass low between the peaks and fall prey to the dampening field. A wasted effort, as the missile immediately dropped to the sands below, powerless.

Likewise the pilot would have recognized the danger the field represented to his shuttle before it was too late. As it was, they were unable to pull up in time and fell prey themselves.

As the second shuttle lost power, fell and impacted the rock-strewn sands to the east, Kelet grieved for the loss of life. It was unfortunate, surely, but had the occupants of the vessel followed the Way of Surak, they would probably not have suffered such a fate.

Kelet ran his hand across L'vell's fur again, reassuring her all was well before sending her out to scout the periphery again. Before tapping the _ashevi, _prompting it to continue their journey, he retrieved a stencil and pad, examined the sky again and made note of his position. He would report the matter to Search and Rescue tomorrow when he reached the hostel.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

Achilla was near to tears. Try as she might, even with Hsiao's help, she couldn't get a lock on her target. The miniscule size of the vessel, the erratic flight pattern, atmo deflection, the dampening field playing hell with sensors…it was just impossible!

And on top of it all…

"Commander, I think the VAC's jamming me!" She cried.

"Target is firing again…" Hsiao reported.

"Expand overwatch." Henry ordered. "I need to see what's going on, Hsiao!"

The view on the bridge main screen drew back, bringing the second shuttle into view. Both now were trailing smoke and heavily damaged, thanks to two good shots from Shuttle Two a moment ago.

"Summers, tell the VAC to back the hell off!" Henry ordered. "Are they completely unaware of what's the going on here?"

Summers had her hands full already, trying to communicate the urgency of the matter without undo emotionality. She could only manage raising one hand to put him off a moment.

"Understood, Vulcan Air Control." She said tightly. "However, our sensors clearly show the unidentified vessel has fired _twice _on Shuttle Two. Are you not receiving our Tactical data?"

"Sir!" Exclaimed Hsiao, from the Helm. "Target just lost power! They're going down!"

Henry jerked his attention back to the main view screen. Sure enough, they were dropping fast…falling…impacting…bouncing from one great sand dune to stick nose first in another.

"The hell happened, Hsiao?"

"Looks like…they're over the Forge, sir…maybe they flew too low?" Hsaio said, confused. "I didn't think the field extended that high."

"To hell with VAC, Summers. Can you get me Shuttle Two?" Henry demanded.

"Standby, Air Control." Summers said, turning to him. "Negative, sir. Too close to the dampening field. I can try a tight beam…but I don't even think they'll…"

"Sir…" Hsiao said. "Shuttle Two just lost impulse."

On screen Shuttle Two was gliding, almost uncontrolled. Henry could see Marisa trying desperately to avoid falling into the dampening field but there was nowhere else to go. Shuttle Two slid inexorably down...lost power...fell...

"Ah, dammit all to hell…" Henry muttered.

Impact.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two**

**_Cheleb'khor_**

Jennifer West slowly opened her eyes. Blinked carefully once. Twice. Still couldn't quite get the blurry world to come into focus.

She gasped for breath. Or tried to. Apparently someone had played a cruel prank on her. Shoved her in an oven, sucked all the air out and dropped a sandbag on her chest. She managed to groan one good time, though.

"Ah, _vithi_." A familiar voice. "You're awake."

All else aside, that cool hand on her cheek felt absolutely wonderful. So she opened her eyes again and managed a bit of focus this time.

She drew a breath, a bit more successfully this time. _Hot. Too hot here. _But the concern on P'Trell's face and the way his antennae seemed to focus on her was just so cute.

She smiled dreamily. "Hey, blue." She murmured.

Rexas smirked and put his palm to her cheek again. That sure felt nice…but…

Her brow furrowed.

"Ow." She said vaguely, raising one hand. Hopefully in the direction of her head.

"You have a bad cut on your scalp." P'Trell admonished. "I think you shouldn't play with it."

"Yeah…I keep hitting my head…" She slurred.

P'Trell chuckled. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"Um…" She couldn't seem to get her brain to engage here…

"Hot. Too hot. Heavy." She struggled for a good breath. "Can't breathe good."

"Yes, I know." He said, grinning. "Welcome to Vulcan, _vithi_."

_Yeah, welcome…what's a vithi, anyway? _She wondered vaguely.

Then suddenly reality found a way through the fog and rushed in all at once.

She blinked. "Oh."

A closer look around then, trying her best not to move her head unnecessarily. Marisa was digging something out of the locker. Her hair was a mess. And the Captain was checking the gear Marisa was tossing at her.

_Looks like she hit her head, too. _She thought. She was surprised that the blood smear on T'Pril's face was red. She'd always assumed…

She shook her head to clear it a bit…and immediately regretted that impulse.

"Ow. Seriously." She complained.

But it brought that wonderfully cool hand back where it belonged. So okay, then. She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed it this time, bringing her own hand up to keep it from wandering off again.

"What happened?" She asked, once she caught a good breath.

"Well, a hull breech resulted in what I suspect will be a lovely scar on your head." P'Trell soothed. "But it deprived us of your company for a time."

"Mm." She murmured. "That crashed us?"

"No." P'Trell denied. "Vulcan herself accomplished that. We seem to have gotten a little too close to the Forge."

That forced her to open her eyes again. And it explained a few things as well. The deck plating was obviously offline and the shuttle wasn't even attempting environmental control. The Forge was just one big dampening field with the most inhospitable, flat out deadliest environment on Vulcan sitting right on top of it.

They were sitting inside a big, dead hunk of metal and plastic…somewhere in Vulcan's Forge.

Oh, they were so screwed.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

Major Morales waited tensely. As it stood a Tactical Alert, for the MACO, meant little more than "stand around and be ready". Which wasn't much different than what they did the rest of the time.

He eyed the comm intently, though. And reflected again that Starfleet needed to start attaching dedicated away teams of some sort to their ships. Several of them. With integral security. MACO preferably, of course.

The current situation being a perfect example. They were at Tactical Alert and half the bridge crew was away on a mission. Heck, most of the time that's exactly _why _they were on alert. Because the command staff had run off and got themselves in some kind of trouble. It was like throwing your rifle at the enemy instead of shooting them with it. What kind of sense did that make?

A bridge crew for the bridge, away team for away missions. It should be obvious…

"_Stand down tactical alert. Section chiefs submit reports". _

He sighed, more relieved than he'd admit.

"Right." He nodded to his team. "Carry on, then." His team fell out, getting back to the drills they'd been in the middle of when the alert sounded.

"_Bridge to Major Morales."_

He snapped his fingers instantly, though gratified to notice his team had stopped dead in their tracks already.

He tapped the comm. "Morales, go ahead."

"_Prepare your team for retrieval and report to the bridge."_

"Understood bridge, on my way." He replied.

"Stetson, ready up. I'll meet you in the shuttle bay." He barked, jogging for the bridge.

Behind him, Corporal Stetson began barking orders. "Alright, you heard it! Ready up! Miles, you're on gear. Desert standard, low atmo. Michaels, go grab us a medic. Sulok, if you can get him. And you better be at the bay waiting when we get there…!"

* * *

Commander Henry McArthur's voice started bleeding through the doors of the lift before Morales had even properly arrived.

"…why I should give a damn. And are you seriously suggesting we faked a Tactical data dump to justify active scans on a _civilian shuttle_?" Henry argued. "Please explain, Commander, what exactly you think we got out of that?"

Morales darted off the lift and onto the bridge, finding McArthur deep in an argument with some Vulcan fleet officer on the bridge view screen.

"I will not speculate now on any motive for your actions, Commander McArthur." The Fleet Officer replied calmly. "The matter at hand is that your ship conducted active scans on a civilian vessel in Vulcan airspace. And attempted a weapons lock on that same vehicle. Both violating preexisting agreements…"

"Our motives for which should be easy enough to speculate on from the live Tac dump we shared with you in the process of all that." McArthur argued. "Kinda the whole point of the thing, ain't it?"

"The details of which have not been confirmed at this time." The officer replied.

"So how about you go confirm 'em and I'll get back to the business of retrievin' my personnel?" McArthur countered.

Henry noticed him then and turned his attention away just long enough to jab a finger in the direction of the situation room. Morales stepped over there to await orders.

"Again. You are not authorized to conduct ground operations on Vulcan without prior approval…" The officer continued.

"Well, unless you can inform me right by God now that you've got a Vulcan Rescue team deployed to get my people out of there, then I'm well within my rights under Article 12 of the Joint Military Operations Agreement to escort civilian personnel out of harm's way in allied territory."

The Fleet Officer raised one eyebrow at that. "You are not a military vessel, Commander, and under the Joint Military Operations Agreement all Earth military forces are restricted from this system."

"Except for MACO teams attached to Starfleet vessels. Which I happen to got one handy." Henry responded.

The Vulcan officer paused. For a moment.

"MACO, of course, may conduct such operations, Commander, under Article 12. Provided they inform us beforehand. But again, you are neither an Earth military nor specifically MACO vessel. This does not then apply to you and you have no authority to issue orders for such operations."

"Well, I guess you're absolutely right, Commander." Henry agreed. "Morales? Get over here."

He hurried over. "Sir?"

Henry folded his arms over his chest. "Major Morales. We've got four Starfleet personnel that went and got themselves crash-landed in the Vulcan Forge. Seems there ain't nothin' we can do about that but wait for Vulcan Air Control and Search n' Rescue to get their collective heads outta their asses long enough to figure out which ass to scratch."

He spared a glare at the Vulcan officer onscreen before continuing. "Which is a real shame seein' as how, if they ain't already dead, they're soon gonna be considering just where they crashed."

He turned back to stare at Morales. "Just thought you'd wanna know, Major. Figured you folk like keepin' up on current events."

And waited.

"Understood, sir." Morales acknowledged, realizing what was expected of him. "Commander McArthur, considering the situation, may I request detachment of the MACO contingent in order to conduct civilian rescue operations under Article 12 of the Joint Military Operations Agreement?"

"Absolutely, Major." Henry nodded. "I reckon we can spare you for a spell. Anything we can do to help?"

"If you can give me a concise report of the situation, sir, I'll let you know what we need at that time." Morales nodded.

"Outstanding." Henry nodded back. He turned back to the view screen.

"If you'll excuse me Commander Setran, looks like we got some business needs takin' care of. Ensign Summers should be able to answer any questions you have concerning that Tactical data."

* * *

**_Cheleb'khor_**

**Vulcan**

P'Trell scanned the horizon ahead. Nothing in evidence at all but endless sand dunes, broken only by occasional bits of evil looking rock. It was insanely hot, oppressively heavy and the air barely qualified as such.

He hated it. And Vulcans all the more for having originated from such a place.

Captain Tucker exited the shuttle behind him just as he had, through the open hole the missile strike had left in the hull, since the actual door was wedged firmly shut. He could sense her approaching to speak and could tell she was assessing him closely in the meantime.

Best to interrupt that. He already knew just what she was considering.

"What's the plan, Captain?" He asked, without turning around. "We can't wait for rescue here."

"Indeed." She replied calmly. "The Forge is commonly considered one of the most inhospitable locations on all of Vulcan. And we have arrived at mid-morning. It will only get worse."

"I'm hoping you know the terrain better than I." He frowning, turning to face her. "I can barely guess what direction I'm facing, much less which one to choose."

"The closest border lies to the south." She replied, pointing that way. "There we should find hostels established to receive _kahs-wan _participants. Possibly camps and supply caches to serve their needs along the way as well."

She turned back, inspecting him openly while she spoke.

"Also, they lie outside the boundaries of the dampening field." She continued. "They will have functional communications equipment, allowing us to contact Vigilant."

"How _far _away, Captain?" He asked.

She looked him in the eye then. "I cannot say."

That was not what he wanted to hear.

"I will survey our surroundings from atop this dune here." She advised, pointing to the tallest nearby. "You will ensure Ensigns West and Rodriguez are properly outfitted for an extended hike through this environment in the meantime."

He nodded. "Your Starfleet issue binoculars are powered, Captain. They won't work here."

Producing a small, palm-sized device from one pocket, he offered it to her. "Simple lens magnifier. Not as good but it works well enough."

Having accepted it, she turned and began scaling the tall dune without a further word. P'Trell watched for a moment, wondering what conclusion she'd come to, if any. He certainly wasn't able to hide his nature in this environment, he knew. Sooner or later it would come under discussion.

And considering she apparently had nothing to say, it was a safe assumption she was preparing the battlefield beforehand. Giving her all the advantage.

With a short sigh he hiked back and climb through the twisted breach in Shuttle Two's hull to check on the others.

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"Alright, so that puts them here, correct?" Morales asked.

"Right. Oversight has 'em eyeballed right there." Henry confirmed. "Just a few miles from the border."

"Might as well be a million." Morales grimaced. "1.4Gs, high temp, low oxygen…that's hell."

"Exactly why we need to cut the gabbin' and get 'em outta there, Major." Henry glared.

"Right. Combat drop straight down, here." He jabbed at a spot on the border of the Forge. "Get in, locate, escort…here. Closest settlement."

"_Kahs-wan _camp." Henry nodded. "They'll have everything you need. What they're there for."

"That dampening field limits equipment options. Specifically communications. We'll need oversight inside the Forge if we're even going to find them." Morales noted. "What have you got in that department?"

McArthur exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. "Best we've got is high-powered white-light search beams. Give me half an hour and I can over tune one all to hell. Should last long enough."

"Visible from the surface?" Morales asked skeptically.

Henry smirked. "Oh, hell yes. You're familiar with Morse code, I'm assuming'?"

"Yes, sir." The Major nodded.

"And you've got LED signal lights yourself, standard gear." Henry said. "Oversight'll catch that plain as day. So there's your comm."

"Outstanding." Morales affirmed.

"Weapons, then." McArthur suggested. "I understand the wildlife down there's few and far between…but they make up for it."

"Not a problem, sir." Morales assured. "We'll uncrate some ballistics."

"What else you need, Major?" Henry asked, impatiently.

"That should be it, sir." He responded.

"Very good." Henry said, then returned to the map display. "Shuttle One will combat drop at high atmo here, vector down to await here, at the settlement. You get in, get out, get aboard. Then you all haul ass right back here, understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"Get to it, then. And good luck."

Morales got to it, heading for the lift and shuttle bay, where his team waited.

"Not a factor, sir." He replied.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Cheleb'khor_**

**Vulcan**

"What? That's _loco_." Marisa exclaimed. "The _worst _thing you can do in the desert is run around in the sun. We should wait here."

P'Trell shrugged. "That is what she said."

"Jenny's in no shape. And it has to be at least five miles, probably ten, to the border." Marisa argued.

"And we don't even know where any of those 'hostels' are." Jenny supplied. "Even if we made it out of the dampening field, the _desert _doesn't stop there. It's a desert _planet_. Not that we'd even make it that far anyway…"

"It's the first rule of desert survival." Marisa insisted. "We all took the same survival course. Stay in the shade, move at night. And that's assuming retrieval's not coming, which it is. In which case, you stay put!"

P'Trell frowned, looking back and forth between the two. "Why are you arguing with _me_? I'm not the Captain."

The sound of footsteps in the sand outside. Marisa steeled herself, obviously preparing to launch her objections in the right direction.

When T'Pril appeared, stepping through the breach in the hull…

"Captain, we can't hike out of here in broad daylight…!" Marisa began, urgently.

"Marisa's right." Jenny agreed. "And I'm pretty banged up. I can barely move…"

"I think we have dissention in the ranks, Captain…" P'Trell smirked.

T'Pril examined the trio, as they began to speak over one another. Their arguments growing in volume.

None of them had donned desert suits, as she herself had, she noted. Though at least the gear had been apportioned among them. Or _near _them, rather.

"…with retrieval on the way, you stay put…!" Marisa continued.

"…finding one of these hostels, or end up wandering around…" Jenny argued.

"…perhaps reconsider whether we're really…" P'Trell suggested.

"Attention!" T'Pril said. Loudly.

Silence descended. With some reluctance.

"Your orders were to ensure preparation for an extended hike through this environment." T'Pril said, evenly. "You have not done so. It would seem it is because you disagree with my orders. Or at least, your assumptions regarding them. What other orders can I expect you to disobey because you do not agree?"

Everyone fidgeted a bit but no one had a response to offer.

"I see." T'Pril said at last. "You will prepare for an extended hike under these conditions. Those are your orders. You will obey orders without question. If you have questions, you may present them. _After _you have obeyed orders. Concerning those questions…it was not my intention to leave the shuttle at this time, only that we be prepared to do so if necessary."

She spared a moment to examine each of the three, to be sure they'd gotten the point.

Then kneeled down to claim one of the packs at her feet, standing again as she slid it into place on her back. "Which would have been convenient, had you obeyed my order. It has now become necessary."

Marisa startled slightly. "What? But you just said…"

"We must leave." T'Pril insisted. "Gather your gear and prepare. Everyone. Quickly."

To their credit, they paused only slightly before grabbing desert suits and began changing. Though T'Pril was forced to remind P'Trell, with a stony stare and sharp gesture, to turn away. Humans preferred modesty in such matters.

Jennifer West was clearly having difficulty moving efficiently, after suffering multiple contusions, so T'Pril aided her in donning her suit.

"Can we ask questions in the _process _of obeying orders? Captain?" Jenny asked, somewhat bitterly.

"Of course." T'Pril replied, helping her with one sleeve. "So long as it does not impede your efforts in doing so."

"Then _why _is it necessary?" She asked. "Marisa's right. It's the _last _thing we should be doing."

"At least three of the crew of the attacking shuttle have survived the crash." She answered, stepping forward to help zip her up in front.

"They are on their way here, arriving in approximately twenty minutes." She said. "Having observed their approach, it is clear they are well acclimated to this environment and well prepared. And so, pose a significant threat."

"Are they Vulcan?" P'Trell asked instantly.

No. T'Pril was quite confident they were _not _Vulcan. So she paused.

"Apparently." She answered simply.

Which was accurate enough.

"Ensure your headgear covers your neck." She ordered. "Utilize the fabric covering located in the inner headband. Secure pant cuffs inside your boots and sleeves within gloves."

Having helped West as much as she was able without impeding further progress, she turned her attention to the group as a whole.

"Quickly. We have little time."

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

"_Vigilant, Shuttle One."_

Summers tapped the comm. "Shuttle One, Vigilant. Go ahead."

"_Vigilant, we are combat drop in three."_

"Shuttle One, copy." Summers replied.

Commander McArthur spared a glance away from overwatch on Shuttle Two's crash site. Roselyn was the most experienced shuttle pilot he had. Maybe, _maybe_, Rodriguez could give her a run for her money. On a good day. Rosie sure as hell knew her business and didn't share Marisa's penchant for getting excited about it all. Hell, she'd be the obvious choice for bridge flight, hands down…if she had a clue how to fly the big birds.

She was purely a shuttle jockey. Damned good one. This was probably the sixth or seventh combat drop she'd flown for the MACO, in fact.

Still…as much as she _didn't _need a CO over her shoulder just now, he couldn't stand not being plugged in, so…

"Summers…"

She nodded, already prepared. "Shuttle Two, stand by for Command." She said, looking back at Henry. "Code comm, sir?"

Henry considered, then shook his head. "No, leave it in the open. We've spooked Vulcan Fleet enough for one day."

"_Vigilant, go ahead, Command." _

"Stone, eyes on." Henry spoke into the air. "How's it look?"

"_Command, Major Morales gives thumbs up, all green. Good to go." _She replied evenly.

"Shuttle One, copy." He replied.

She was a cool customer, and Henry was glad for it.

Summers kept the channel open. 'Eyes on', after all.

"Tac', report." Henry said, over his shoulder. Achilla had recovered well but was still a bit shaky. Best to keep her busy, he figured.

"Still tracking two, sir." She said, calmly. "Although I think we've got three more coming up from the northeast. Could just be a routine patrol, though."

Henry scowled. The Vulcans couldn't verify a real time Tactical data share or launch a damned search and rescue in under an hour…but they could field recon to spy on them at the drop of a hat…

"Keep on 'em, Chilly." Henry nodded. "Science, anything?"

"Negative, sir." Duvall responded. "That dampening field just eats everything you throw at it…"

"_Vigilant, Shuttle One. Be advised, we're tracking two bogeys low, at five and seven."_

"Shuttle One, copy." Henry replied. "Vulcan Air Defense drones. We've got 'em, Stone."

"_Vigilant, understood…approaching drop…"_

Henry was tempted to switch overwatch to the drop. He was sure Achilla was wondering why he hadn't. Standard procedure and all. But that was ten full minutes, minimum, with eyes _off _Shuttle Two. Plenty of time for…well, who knows _what _trouble the Captain could get into in ten minutes.

Apparently quite a lot.

"_Vigilant, doors out…"_

The faint sound of rushing air could be heard over the open channel.

"…_two away…four away…all away, doors clear…"_

The howling air diminishing quickly, then cut off.

"…_we're secure, all green."_

Henry smirked. "Ensign Stone, how's the weather?"

"_Command, Shuttle One. It's raining men. Hallelujah."_

He nodding, satisfied. "Shuttle One, outstanding. Continue to the pick-up point, report on arrival. _Vigilant_, out."

Summers looked quizzically over at McArthur, who just shook his head and grinned.

* * *

**_Cheleb'khor_**

**Vulcan**

They were moving far too slowly. Ensign Rodriguez had begun gasping for breath almost immediately and P'Trell was forced to support Ensign West several times before they were even out of sight of the shuttle.

P'Trell, of course, showed little sign of discomfort at all. Andorians were renowned for being highly adaptable to environmental extremes, especially temperature…but their higher metabolism resulted in their succumbing to fatigue from sustained exertion far more quickly than either Humans or Vulcans. Adaptability aside, hiking through this environment should have had a marked effect on his stamina by now. Enough that his continuing to offer support to Ensign West was remarkable.

Sooner or later one of the two Humans would spare enough attention from their own discomfort to make note of that fact. T'Pril could only hope it was later, as the situation was not conducive to resolving that matter just yet.

She stopped atop the dune they scaled, waiting for the three to catch up. Using the pocket binoculars P'Trell had lent her, she scanned behind them for sign of their pursuers. And, admittedly, she was growing somewhat fatigued herself so the small rest was welcome.

P'Trell, drawing near, still supporting West by one arm, didn't like her in the open like that.

"Captain, you should move further on, behind the bulk of the dune." He advised sternly. "They may have ballistic weapons."

"No…" West gasped, stumbling. "Won't work…"

P'Trell frowned. "A dampening field won't stop a simple chemical reaction…"

West nodded weakly. "Sometimes…a little…" She gasped. "…not…"

She bent over further, struggling to catch her breath. "…reliable."

P'Trell grunted. 'Not reliable' was hardly the same as 'won't work'. Granted, the odds that their enemies just happened to bring ballistic weapons along were very slim but…assumptions like that are what got you killed more often than not.

But he wouldn't waste her breath arguing the point.

"I accept the risk." T'Pril remarked, still scanning to the north. "We require awareness of our pursuers."

Nodding agreement, P'Trell compelled the other two forward, getting them at least behind cover on the far side of the dune. There they could seize the opportunity to rest for a moment while the Captain was occupied. Which they promptly did, collapsing to focus exclusively on gasping for oxygen.

T'Pril lowered the binoculars, dropped them in one pocket and turned to join the group down the far side of the dune. There she turned her attention south.

"There are three and they are gaining ground significantly." She announced. "I estimate they will come within range of physical assault in less than one half hour. I require options, Ensign P'Trell."

He shook his head. "There are none in that direction." He said, pointing directly south. "It's more or less open terrain and even the dunes themselves become shorter from here. However…"

He indicated the broken ground extending to the southeast. "…there the ground is much more difficult. A lot of broken stone. Shallow, narrow canyons probably. Very difficult to traverse."

He looked at T'Pril then. "But no more for us than for them. It will even things out somewhat and provide many of those options you require."

T'Pril mulled it over for a moment. Then nodded. "Agreed."

She turned to assess the two Humans sitting in the sand. They were both still barely able to extract the oxygen they required from the air, even at rest. Both displayed the tell-tale reddening of sunburn on their cheeks, from only passing exposure to Vulcan's sun beneath the visors of their headgear.

Ensign West especially, having already suffered trauma and contusions from a missile strike mere feet away from where she'd sat in the shuttle. She had undoubtedly suffered additional physical injury from the hike as a result.

Further, both had already consumed the water not only in their own survival gear but hers and P'Trell's as well.

And they had only traveled two miles so far.

T'Pril Tucker began to acknowledge and accept that the two would die before they reached aid. Assuming any of them did. Logically then, the needs of the many…

…

…but it was their life and so, their choice. She was their Captain, and would act in accordance with that.

And it was not her responsibility to make them aware of the matter either.

Part of her mind objected to her reasoning, insisting…but she ignored it, put it away. Clearly she had more pressing matters that required her attention.

"We must go now." She announced.

West immediately groaned, almost whimpering. "Captain…I…"

"I understand it is difficult and painful, Ensign." She said. "I regret the necessity. But we must continue moving. If we are able to reach the relative cover of the rock quickly enough, I can assure you an opportunity to rest for three minutes there."

She waited. Soon Rodriguez began climbing slowly to her feet, saying nothing.

T'Pril then moved to offer her hand to West, surprising P'Trell a little, and the two helped her slowly, stumbling, to her feet as well.

* * *

Morales lay under the Vulcan sun, gasping in pain through his chin mask. He'd underestimated the forces involved in parachuting in thin atmosphere under 1.4Gs.

_Pain don't hurt. Suck it up, buttercup. Fight through it and assess yourself for injury. Right now. You've got people depending on you._

He flexed and forced his legs to extend…slowly…getting his feet out of the awkward position he found them in. Alternating between keening in agony and gasping in pain the whole while…nothing broken at least, it would seem…until his feet were more or less pointing in the proper direction.

Someone was approaching…couldn't tell who yet behind the chin mask and goggles…it was Ensign Schaffer, the medic.

Rico spared a single sharp laugh at that. The damned Starfleet geek was hiking it just fine. The combat jump hadn't slowed him down one bit. Well, that was delightfully ironic.

"Hold still, Major." He said, his voice muffled. "Let me check you out."

"Oh, I'm fine, doc." Rico chuffed, painfully. "Just got hit by a planet. No biggie."

"We'll see." Schaffer said, though Rico could hear the humor in his voice.

Schaffer set about scanning him for injury the old fashioned way. By prodding and poking him mercilessly.

Behind him Rico watched Private Jasper North stalking down the dune, coming toward them. Chambering a finger-sized cartridge into the ballistic rifle he carried.

He was grinning like a maniac by the time he arrived to stand over the two.

"So…need me to put him down, doc?" North asked, hopefully.

"Yeah, laugh it.._ah!._.." Rico grunted in pain. "Laugh it up, dumbass."

Schaffer smiled and patted Morales once before standing.

"No, I think that won't be necessary." He said. "Although I'd be happier with an actual scan…I'm fairly sure he's just banged up a good bit."

"Banged up?" North asked, a bit more seriously. "That your professional opinion, doc?"

Schaffer nodded, with mock seriousness. "Yes, of course. The result of the best medical training Starfleet has to offer, I assure you."

North considered, then shrugged. "Alright, then."

"But I'm afraid he won't be able to..." Schaffer began, until he noticed Morales was..._injecting himself with something?_

"Uh, Major...!" He exclaimed, uncertainly.

North grabbed his on the arm. Politely, but firmly. "Don't worry about it, doc."

"What's...?" Schaffer asked.

"You don't want to know." North said seriously.

Morales soon began the slow, painful process of getting to his feet. Trying to make as few girly noises as possible.

"Uh...at least…Major." Schaffer said quickly. "You should probably…"

"S'fine, doc." He grunted, forcefully. "Just give me a minute."

North snorted, shaking his head ruefully. "Alright. Look who's the dumbass now." He muttered.

Wincing at the Major's attempt to stand up without embaressing himself, he turned his attention to Schaffer.

"Well, let's leave the guy some dignity, doc. Look here." He said. "Let me introduce you to an old friend of the MACO."

Jasper put the strange looking weapon forth for display.

"This is the Saxon Twelve-Niner." He said. "Also known as the 'Sexy Nine'. Also known as 'Miss Gruesome'. She was the standard MACO service weapon for longer than you or I will probably live. And for good reason. Nine millimeter binary propellant system, fixed cartridges, armor piercing, low-friction ablative sabot. Integral short barrel dual purpose twelve-gauge shotgun and type two grenade launcher."

"You don't get to play with that on the first date, though. Sorry." He said, then offered the weapon to Schaffer.

"Introduce yourself, doc."

Schaffer took the rifle carefully, unsure what to do with it. "I…didn't understand a thing you just said to me." He admitted.

North grinned. "Big gun. Point at bad man. Go boom. Bad man fall down."

Schaffer's brow furrowed in confusion. "It booms?"

"And kicks like hell, if you don't brace it correctly…"

"It kicks?"

North stared at the medic for a short moment, then looked over at Morales, who'd finally gotten more or less to his feet.

Morales just shook his head.

"Yeah, hand her back, doc." He said. "Before you hurt yourself. We'll let you two dance some other time."

* * *

Morales unclipped the LED from his belt, pointed it skyward and began flashing.

"Alright, ready line." Stetson barked from behind him. "Last up, ass up!"

R-E-A-D-Y-G-O

Immediately one small dot high in the sky began flashing white.

_Huh. You really could see it from the surface. _

"North, you've got the pack, so you hug the medic." Stetson continued in the background. "Simms, you're with me. Miles, you're on point."

N-O-R-T-H-N-O-R-T-H-E-A-S-T

"Hell, I've always got point." Miles grumbled quietly.

"You need a hug, Miles?" Stetson snapped

M-O-V-I-N-G-S-O-U-T-H

"That's a no-go, North. Back in the pack." Stetson announced.

"No grenades?" North asked.

"We've gotta hike through the desert at half-over G. How far can you throw? Do the math."

"Right, right. Back in the pack, guys."

T-H-R-E-E-M-I-L-E-S

Morales turned to his team. "Alright, North by northeast, approximately three miles. They're on the move, so we'll be…

"Major." Stetson, nodding skyward. Morales turned back.

I-L-E-S-

Morales flashed back quickly.

R-E-P-E-A-T-L-A-S-T

The flashing stopped…then resumed.

H-O-S-T-I-L-E-S-O-N-F-O-O-T

C-L-O-S-I-N-G-O-N-E-M-I-L-E

Morales turned quickly back to his team, barking. "Skip the foreplay. They've got hostiles. Let's move!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Vulcan High Command**

**Vulcan**

Minister Kau stood passively in the midst of the Situation Room, all eyes on him as he calmly but quickly assessed all relevant information on the half dozen view screens before him. He hadn't been granted his position for lack of ability to assess information quickly and well. And the situation was readily apparent to any discerning eye.

He pointed to screen two. "_V'shar _dossier concerning Commander McArthur." He ordered, then indicated the screen next to it. "Most recent performance evaluation of Commander Setran, including personal assessment addendums."

He had already reviewed the extremely interesting communication between the two officers. Now to examine why each had displayed the behavior they had. The information appeared almost instantly, prompting Kau to acknowledge and suppress his gratitude for having been assigned a most exemplary staff.

After a several long minutes Kau finally gestured to the main view screen before him. "Visual communication with Commander Setran."

He understood the two men well enough now to proceed. Setran was a fool, operating under a bigoted and obsolete perspective on both Humanity and Vulcan superiority. McArthur was an aggressive commander, prone to utilizing intimidation, whose concern for his crew prompted emotion to rule his command decisions. Setran must be put in his place and removed from the situation entirely. McArthur required alleviation of his emotional concerns and a direct challenge to his assumption that Vulcan command would not escalate the incident.

Screen one soon flashed to Commander Setran, apparently already awaiting his review. Again his staff had anticipated his requirements.

"Minister Kau." Setran replied, somewhat tightly. "It is of course agreeable to…"

"Report." Kau interrupted.

Setran paused for only a moment before complying. "The humans are currently conducting military operations in Vulcan airspace, utilizing a questionable application of Article 12 of the Joint Military Operations Agreement…"

"Six armed MACO, acting on independent authority, inserted at high atmosphere above the Forge." Minister Kau noted. "Their intent is to locate and retrieve possible survivors from the shuttle they have lost in the Forge, is that correct?"

Setran nearly frowned. "That is their claim. However, the entire incident…"

"Then I see nothing questionable in their application of the agreement." Kau concluded. "What steps have you taken to aid in their mission and ensure Vulcan sovereignty in this matter?"

Setran paused again, causing Kau to affirm his suspicions about the man's fitness for command. He'd done nothing to ensure either, of course. Focusing exclusively on hampering Human efforts, regardless of what they were.

"We have several air defense drones monitoring the situation." Setran said at last. "We have placed Air Base 12 on alert and mobilized three in-system cruisers as well."

Minister Kau paused long enough to convey disapproval before continuing. "I have a missive here from the Search and Rescue Department, offering their services and inquiring why the offer seems necessary. Why have you not contacted them?"

"At present, we cannot confirm the Human's accounting of the events they claim as justification for their actions."

"I have reviewed the tactical data stream the _Vigilant _shared during the incident." Kau pressed on. "As well as current reports from the two Vulcan Air Defense stations monitoring the situation, from both the _Sehret _and _Fo-dan _observing from orbit, and even The Vulcan Guard stationed at Mt. Seleya. All have made their observations available and the information at hand confirms that the Human shuttle came under fire from an unidentified Vulcan shuttle. Do you have information that I do not?"

Kau reasoned from Setran's short pause that he was somewhat surprised. Did the fool really think he wouldn't be fully informed? Fleet officers are far too prone to assuming command elements on the surface of Vulcan were entirely ignorant, Kau mused. Most especially those officers convinced of their own necessity.

"The data at hand would seem to support the Human's assertions." Setran conceded. "However, considering their aggressive violation of Vulcan airspace this calls into question…"

"Scanning the unidentified vessel when it first appeared and attempting to destroy it when it initiated hostilities." Kau responded. "Clearly a violation of prior agreements, I agree. However, the command staff of the _Vigilant _currently are all Human. Their response to the attack on their shuttle should not have surprised you, nor seemed especially suspect. They are a highly emotional and reactionary people. For them to have acted otherwise would have been more suspect."

"Nevertheless, their actions call into question their motives in issuing…" Setran insisted.

"That is enough, I think." Kau interrupted. "You are attempting to distract from your failure. Their violation of Vulcan airspace is a minor issue, in light of the attack that prompted it and your own ineptitude in responding. You have behaved foolishly, with little thought to consequence. "

Setran was visibly taken aback. "I have responded in concordance with protocol…"

"You are relieved of command until further notice." Kau noted calmly. "Summon your second to the screen, then remove yourself from the bridge and await my review once this matter has been properly resolved."

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

McArthur watched the four figures on screen struggle through the sands from high above. Overwatch couldn't yet be extended to include their pursuers without drawing far enough back that details couldn't be made out. But from Achilla's last report it was only a matter of time. They were gaining and by all accounts would reach the Captain and her crewmen before the MACO could intercept.

He could only imagine the conditions in the Forge that made a simple five mile hike such a life and death struggle. West had already been forced to lean on P'Trell constantly and Rodriguez had been reduced more to stumbling forward than actually walking. And when their pursuers, clearly having little trouble themselves, managed to catch up…Henry doubted his people would be able to put up much of a fight. Even T'Pril was starting to stagger.

Damn it all to hell and back.

All relevant agreements and accords aside, he'd order a phaser strike by the _Vigilant. _ground zero on the bastards, consequences be damned. If there was any assurance at all it wouldn't do more harm than good, anyway. The Forge's dampening field were sure to twist and splash the beam all over hell and back before sucking the power right out of it. Achilla couldn't even make an educated guess whether she could reach the surface at all, much less kill anything.

Now would be a great time to be able to consult Vulcan command on the matter. Henry was quite sure that was something they could answer authoritatively. They lived here, after all. It was bound to be something they'd gotten around to testing.

Beyond sporadic Morse code communications with the MACO on the surface, the _Vigilant _was largely powerless to intervene. And it was grating on all involved. Duvall had even been reduced to suggesting dropping crates of rock samples on their heads. He'd made a damned good case for it and Roselyn was fairly confident she could hit them from high enough above the Forge…if Science and Tactical tied in with her…might take a few shots to get them pegged…

Henry was sure as hell tempted…

In fact, to hell with this.

"Duvall." He said. "I'm assumin' you're already running simulations over there. Tie in with Tac' and you two get to work. I want absolute confirmation you can pull it off. Be quick about it."

Henry turned to Summers. "Holler at Roselyn. Tell her to get her folks loading up those geological samples taking up space in the cargo bay. Reckon she won't mind putting in a little overtime."

"Yes, sir." Summers acknowledged. "I've got an incoming transmission, though…Vulcan High Command…Minister Kau, sir?"

Henry scowled in irritation. He'd already had his fill of Vulcans today and didn't really want to get himself into any more trouble that he already had. As it stood Starfleet wasn't going to take kindly to his actions so far. Not _officially _anyway. He was sure they'd be forced to reprimand him in some fashion or other, if only for political reasons.

Which was fine. Part of the job and all.

Butting heads with a Minister wasn't exactly going to alleviate any of that though.

"Fine." He conceded. "Put him through."

The main view screen lit up, revealing as stodgy an old Vulcan bastard as Henry expected. This guy's face was practically etched with a thousand political conflicts fought and won. Henry braced himself for some serious wranglin'.

"Minister." He began. "Nice to hear from you folks and all but we're a little busy at the moment…"

"I agree, we do not have the luxury of arguing the irrelevant." Minister Kau interrupted. "As it stands the failure of certain individuals to act promptly has rendered us short on effective response time."

_Say…wha? _"Uh, Minister." Henry responded. "Reckon I don't…"

"Commander Setran has been relieved of command temporarily." Kau continued. "His second, Lieutenant Kervahn, is a capable officer and you are expected to offer any aid that he may require."

Henry was already off balance and he knew it. Better jump in there quick before this old bastard rolled right over him…

"We've kinda got a full plate over here already, Minister." Henry argued. "Don't see the need for us to..."

"At present we have deployed two platoons of ground military personnel alongside two standard Search and Rescue teams. They will arrive and drop into the Forge at the location of your lost crewmen in approximately 35 minutes. I formally request you advise…"

"Now hold on there." Henry interjected. "We've got MACO on the ground already…"

"The MACO detachment will reach your crewmen no sooner than this, having dropped from high atmosphere and to the south, rather than proximal to the upper boundary of the dampening field. I formally request you advise them to expect Vulcan reinforcements en route."

Henry tried again to regain ground. "You seem to overlookin' the fact we're the ones running this search and rescue. Because you folks couldn't be bothered up 'til now. Under Article 12 of the…"

"The Joint Military Operations Agreement." Kau said. "I am quite familiar with it, having participated in the formulation of the agreement myself and in the talks that led to its establishment. Vulcan will meet and exceed all requirements in this regard. As we will be compelled to respond aggressively to any further attempts by you to interfere with this operation."

_The hell? _

"How the hell have _we _interfered with the operation?" Henry demanded. "_We're _the only ones conductin' the damned thing."

"Only Vulcan forces have authority to conduct such operations in Vulcan territory, lending it in this case to the MACO detachment by prior agreement with Earth." Minister Kau replied calmly. "Starfleet has no authority here. To continue to command military operations within our sovereign territory would constitute an act of aggression."

"Well, if you think we're just going to sit on our…" Henry growled.

"Should you continue to violate the Agreement, the Vulcan Fleet has been ordered to disable your vessel, board it and assume control. Under Article 5 of this same agreement, concerning acts of piracy and rogue command elements, you will be placed under arrest pending inquiry."

"Rogue comma…?" Henry exploded. "Do you _really _think you can get away with…!

"Commander McArthur, I must regretfully inform you that there are three Vulcan cruisers moving into position at the moment, should such an unfortunate and unnecessary action be required. I would recommend you proceed rationally and avoid further emotional decisions at this point."

Well, damned if he was going to knuckle under _now_…

"I've got people down there, in the Forge of all damned places, and you folks haven't exactly been falling all over yourselves to do something about that. Now suddenly you want to jump in and take over? Ain't no way in hell we're about to let that happen, Minister!"

"I admit, there has been a regrettable failure in our response so far…"

That brought Henry up short. Wait…the hell? Did he just…?

"…and we are now attempting to rectify that failure. It behooves us both to remove any unnecessary impediments to that end."

"No. Absolutely not. And you just back up a damned minute. These are _Vigilant's _people we're talking about. _We're _responsible for…"

"Once your personnel have been retrieved, assessed for injury and the criminals pursuing them have been apprehended, your crewmen will be turned over to the custody of the MACO detachment. Agents of High Command on site will then arrange transfer for all personnel to your command aboard the _Vigilant_."

"Fine. But you've got a few…"

"There is nothing further to discuss." Kau concluded. "We will notify you of any other assistance you may offer in this endeavor."

"We haven't 'discussed'…!"

The view screen went dark as Minister Kau simply disconnected.

McArthur could only stared at the dead screen, more shocked and amazed than angry.

Until, finally…

"Well, you Vulcan som'bitch." He grumbled.

After a long, quiet moment, with nothing forthcoming from Commander McArthur, Achilla Trindi finally broke the silence.

"Sir?" She asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah, Trindi." McArthur responded, running his fingers through his hair.

Achilla found herself at a lost for how to ask what she needed to ask. But Henry spared her.

"Nothing for it." He said, resigned. "Keep up overwatch, Chilly."

Turning to the Communications Officer, he sighed. "Summers, you relay to Morales they've got Vulcan reinforcements on the way. Might want to be careful what they shoot at."

Glancing around at the bridge crew, noting their confusion, he shrugged. "We got buffaloed. Fellah called my bluff. Nothin' we can do about it." He announced.

Turning to face the bridge crew directly, Henry shook his head in sincere regret and clapped his thigh lightly. "Alright, then. Vulcan's got the ball. Let's figure on what we can do to help 'em run it."

* * *

_**Cheleb'khor**_

**Vulcan**

Short of breath and approaching the point of fatigue herself, T'Pril experienced some difficulty scaling yet another outcropping of sharp rock that rose to block their progress. But she managed it and turned with Ensign Rodriguez to aid Ensign West in scaling the barrier as well.

Jennifer West, who had already begun to exhibit the dizziness and pain associated with heat stroke. Who would no doubt die soon, barring some miraculous manner of intervention. Which T'Pril could in no way discern how to bring about.

P'Trell followed immediately behind, landing solidly on his feet, still showing no discernible sign of exhaustion. He moved quickly to support West, meeting with some resistance when she suddenly refused to be helped to her feet.

"No…" She gasped weakly. "Can't…"

"Not hearing that." P'Trell growled, still tugging at one arm. "_Klazh'tash'as_, on your feet, woman!"

"No." She insisted, remaining limp against the rock.

Behind her, T'Pril sensed Rodriguez collapse to the sand herself. Seizing even this opportunity for rest. She was nearing her limits as well, perhaps already having exceeded them.

Jenny suddenly wrenched her arm from P'Trell's grasp.

"Captain…" She panted, her head lolled back against the stone. "Got to…go on…leave…"

"Shut up." P'Trell snapped. "No one's leaving anyone behind. We'll make a stand right here, if we must."

He looked over at Captain Tucker, expecting affirmation.

But she continued to stare passively at West, who stared weakly back at her.

"Captain!" He demanded, prompting her at last to acknowledge him with a short glance.

"Needs…of the many..." West gasped, then yelped weakly, grasping her stomach in pain.

Another sign of her impeding death.

_The needs of the many…_

T'Pril's eyes closed, her face suddenly contorting in anguish. A multitude of conflicting emotions taking the opportunity to attempt a break for freedom. To leave one to die so that the others might live. Was that really so different than what she sought through logic to escape? She was trapped, she knew. Between logic and emotion. Both had failed her. Both leading to darkness…

But she stifled it quickly. Perhaps her faith in one path was being tested. But she knew very well where the other led. Emotion offered nothing but destruction, straying from the Way of Surak all the more so.

And this was no time to reevaluate the entire foundation she stood upon.

The passing moment was not quick enough that P'Trell didn't witness it, though. Desperation, panic, guilt, horror…the Captain was losing focus, at the very least. Perhaps near to some kind of mental breakdown even.

"Captain!" He snapped. "Clear your head! We have to get them up and move on!"

"Be quiet, Ensign." She responded flatly, completely calm again, considering for a long moment…

Then nodding to herself confidently.

"You will decide now, Ensign West." She announced. "If you refuse to continue on then we will stand here. And we will very likely die here, whether at the hands of our pursuers or the environment itself. Alternatively, you take to your feet and we continue on, seeking the greater likelihood of our survival. It seems then that our fate is yours to decide. I will not abandon you, nor accommodate your despair."

West, still clutching her stomach did not respond for a while. Long enough that P'Trell was sorely tempted to start dragging the woman off by her hair. But he waited, hoping she would make the…as much as he hated to admit…logical choice.

Suddenly West began to cry. Weakly, barely able to keen and entirely unable to produce a single tear. But she cried nonetheless.

"Can't…" She sobbed softly, still clutching at the pain in her stomach.

"Then you will allow Ensign P'Trell to carry you." T'Pril nodded. "Do so now, Ensign." She nodded to him.

_Finally! Someone's developed some sense! _

P'Trell had Jenny snatched up and was in the process of tossing her up over one shoulder…

…when something whistled in from over the rocks, striking her in the arm. At the sight of red blood splattering, P'Trell instantly changed the course of his movement and had West thrown prone behind the cover of the rock.

"Get down!" He yelled, already scrambling in the sand for something to wield as a weapon. Entirely disgusted when he was forced to grab a fist-sized rock for lack of anything else that might qualify.

T'Pril stepped gracefully aside, taking advantage of the cover the rock outcropping beside her offered. Marisa was forced to simply slump entirely to the sand, having strength for nothing more. At that T'Pril stepped out again quickly, grasping her arm and dragging her swiftly to cover with her.

They waited.

With a quick measured glance, P'Trell assessed West on the ground beside him. That last bit of physical trauma had proven too much atop all the abuse she'd suffered so far. She was, perhaps thankfully, unconscious. Still lodged in her arm, what appeared to be a golden metal star of some sort, a simple throwing blade.

After several moments a voice called out from direction it had come.

"I see we have your attention!" The voice mocked. "You know what we want and we know what you want. We want the device and you want to live! We should think about how we can help one another!"

P'Trell looked over at the captain, finding her meeting his eyes and pointing at the blade in West's arm. _What? Did she want him to remove it? Treat the wound?_

Ah, a quick look in the direction of the laughing voice communicated her intent. And P'Trell almost objected vehemently…but…all he had was a stupid rock…

Grimacing in disgust, he rolled over to West, already pulling the meager first aid kit from his pocket. He began treating the wound. But his goal, primarily, was to avail himself of the only weapon they had at hand.

"There's nothing to consider, really." The voice taunted. "If you will not help us, then it doesn't seem fair to expect us not to kill you. I don't think we'll have much trouble doing that. We know very well the two Humans with you are already practically dead."

When no one responded, the voice continued.

"We are well armed, are you? Do you suppose the three of us can win a fight with your sorry lot? I think we can, very easily. I think I will give you five minutes to decide. I'm thirsty, you see. So I will enjoy a cold drink of water while I await your decision."

Wicked laughter followed the pronouncement, filling the ravine with threat.

T'Pril watched as P'Trell removed the star-shaped blade from West's arm, tending to the wound. Very likely he'd caused more damage than he would have by leaving it be for now but logic dictated they make use of the weapon. However, pitiful a weapon it seemed to be.

She considered the situation rationally. They wanted the encryption device. And any promise of safe passage hinted at was hardly reliable.

But still. In the end, perhaps even that unreliable offer was more trustworthy than their chances of engaging in combat in their condition. As it was, there was no chance they could keep possession of the device if their enemies came for it. Nor their lives, for that matter.

Very well, then. Logic.

And perhaps they may even manage to evade their pursuers while they are distracted.

"We will leave the encryption device here." T'Pril called out. "You will allow us to depart, claiming it when we are gone."

P'Trell immediately objected from across the shallow ravine. "Don't be a fool!" He hissed. "They can't allow us to escape! They _have _to kill us! And we have to fight!"

He glared furiously but T'Pril only gazed calmly back, revealing nothing.

"Ah! Excuse me. My mouth was full of water!" The voice replied. "But I think you are in no position to negotiate. No, I think it would be best that we check you over, don't you? To be sure you haven't any copies of the program or something of that nature. Surely you can understand if we are reluctant to trust?"

P'Trell gestured sharply in the direction of the voice. _You see?_

T'Pril nodded back, speaking quietly so that only he could hear. "Then we must fight. We will lure them in, stall them with attempts at negotiation and seize any opportunity that presents itself."

P'Trell nodded, fully in agreement. He palmed the gold star, stained with Jenny's blood. Eager to return it to its owner…

"Very well." T'Pril called out. "It seems we've no other choice. Come and claim the device but be warned that we will fight if necessary. Whatever your claims of superiority, I am certain at least one of you will lose their life as a result."

Cruel laughter echoed through the ravine in response.

* * *

Morales eyed the blinking lifeline in the sky, frowning deeply when the message concluded. He blinked back a simple acknowledgment before clipping the LED to his belt again.

"Alright, Stetson." He said. "Looks like the Vulcans got their asses in gear. We've got reinforcements, ETA in twenty."

"Where?" Stetson asked.

"Right on top of us, if I got that right." He said, nodding skyward.

"Well, good." Stetson grimaced. "They can carry my damned pack, then."

Morales nodded, snorting.

"Okay, get moving!" He barked to the others. "Vulcan teams inbound but we aren't waiting for them."

They had surplus oxygen right through their chin masks, high tech dress gear designed for comfort in desert environments, plenty of water available and otherwise overall were as perfectly outfitted for a hike across the Vulcan Forge as a group of MACO could possibly be. And the damned gravity was still beating the hell out of them after only three miles. They'd be lucky if they could still shoot straight or hold out a canteen to the Starfleet geeks when they found them.

Morales decided he really hated Vulcan. And was more than a little disgruntled with the Captain for deciding to crash here.

Less than a hundred meters away a piercing shriek suddenly let out, jerking at the attention of the MACO on that side of the double line.

"North?" Morales inquired, shouldering his rifle.

"Eyes out!" North replied. "_Sehlat_, I think."

The squad halted instantly, dropping to one knee, weapons ready facing _both _directions.

"What are we looking at, Jasper?" Morales asked quietly, scanning the area along the rifle's sights.

"Hunter chaser. That's why they yell first, to get you running and pick off stragglers. So we'd better not run." Jasper answered quickly. "They're quick and damned sneaky, so stay sharp! _Real _sharp!"

They waited. Eyes out. Sharp.

A subtle sound…Morales shifted his aim to search the sand and rock in that direction…

There? No, nothing…

Nothing.

No movement, no sound.

Just how sneaky are these things…?

To his left, Simms suddenly opened fire, pouring ammo at something…Morales shifted to cover his target…

And found the damned thing running flat out straight for him. Not twenty meters away. A mass of very well camouflaged light brown, with a mouth full of nightmare attached.

He barely had time to throw five rounds at it before the squad had ripped it to pieces. Most of it sliding to a halt almost within his reach, the thing had been moving so insanely fast.

Silence.

Half the squad focused on the mound of twitching, bloody meat. The other shifting back to cover their flank.

"Jasper?" Morales asked, trying _very _hard not to let his voice tremble.

"I think we're good." North responded. "They're only part time pack hunters. And if they were more than one, they'd be on us already."

Rico sighed, lowering his rifle and standing again. "Good enough. Form up, badasses."

"_Hooah!" _The squad responded in unison. Standing to form up again, very confident in their abilities and not at all shaken by what had just happened, thank you very much.

North grinned at Morales, patting his inner thigh. "Thank God for the urinary filtration system, aye Major?"

Morales shook his head, trying not to chuckle.

"_Hooah_, private." He said.

From the rear, Ensign Schaffer suddenly spoke up. His voice very obviously trembling. "Yeah, okay. I think I'm ready to get acquainted with Mrs. Gruesome, North."

Jasper grinned regretfully. "Sorry, doc. Some other time."

"I'm not kidding." Schaffer argued. "That was scary."

"Just stick with me and you'll be fine, no worries." North assured.

Schaffer was not at all convinced.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Cheleb'khor**_

**Vulcan**

T'Pril waited, with West's tricorder in hand. She had no intention of handing over her own. That she had given to P'Trell who, among them all, remained the most capable at the moment. West remained unconscious and she had no confidence that Rodriguez could escape pursuit. With him then lay the best chance of keeping the data safe from these men.

She herself had come near her limits. One more bout of significant exertion was all she could manage, she was certain. Hopefully that would be enough, if only to buy P'Trell time to escape.

P'Trell stood to her left and slightly behind, clearly letting her become the focus of attention when the men revealed themselves. Most certainly so that he could seize that advantage should they be forced to go on the offensive. Together they effectively blocked the shallow pass in the ravine at that point. To get around them, to where West lay and Rodriguez rested, the men would have to go through the two of them. Or perhaps be forced to scale the shallow cliffs to either side…

Any further musing was cut short when the men appeared suddenly ahead, moving with intimidating leisure.

All three were clearly Vulcan. Hair style, facial features, even their desert gear, all Vulcan. The expressions they wore and the air of menace they carried with them however…decidedly not.

The one leading the group carried some manner of prod. A meter long metal baton with a thin, sharp spike at the end. The other two carried blades, clearly designed to clear a path through more robust environments but no less effective for their intended purpose here.

One wore a thick belt at his waist, through which peeked glimmers of golden metal. More of the throwing blades of the sort that had struck Ensign West.

T'Pril could sense Rexas suddenly focus exclusively on that one.

"Captain T'Pril Tucker." The lead man smirked. "I must admit I was very surprised when I was informed I would be hunting _you_. Delighted as well, of course."

"And who informed you?" T'Pril replied quickly.

_Discussion takes time, time provides opportunity. _

_Keep them talking. Provoke their emotions_.

"I suspect you know." He snorted. "Or near enough. You are something of a celebrity you know, even among my people." He shrugged apologetically, "Though perhaps not so well received."

Shifting his attention away for a moment, he gestured at the tricorder in her hand with the prod he wielded.

"That is mine, I think?" He asked, smirking.

T'Pril considered the tricorder, as if it were inconsequential. "That remains to be seen." She replied. "There are agreements that must be come to."

The man grinned slightly. "I think there is little to discuss…"

"It is your choice, of course." T'Pril interjected. "You may negotiate from a superior position or simply step forward and take it by force. I am sure you would prefer the latter but that seems hardly becoming."

"And what do I care for appearances?" The man replied sharply. "You may keep them. And your logic. Your lives as well, if you are careful."

"And honor as well we may keep, I see." T'Pril replied evenly.

The man's eyes narrowed at that. "You speak of honor? To _me_?" He menaced. "I think that is a subject a Vulcan should best avoid. Half-breed or not."

P'Trell watched the exchange, doing as little as possible to draw attention to himself, though he didn't miss the implications being hinted at. He waited only for the sign that violence would ensue, then he would sink the blade he held into the one who'd wounded West.

And then he would step forward and kill them all. T'Pril's orders notwithstanding. He had no intention of fleeing to die in the desert like a wounded beast. These men would simply track down his corpse and seize the tricorder anyway. He was a trained warrior, _highly _trained truth be known. Born and bred, in a particular sense of the phrase, for just such situations.

And so even as focused as he was on the inevitable battle, some part of his awareness remained detached enough to monitor his surroundings for surprises.

Such as the fact that something was moving very stealthily along the ridge to his left.

"You question the honor of Vulcan? But what honor is there in this?" T'Pril offered. "We are well aware you have no intention of allowing us to live. These games you play serve no purpose but your own gratification."

He smirked. "You are right, of course. This situation entertains me greatly. But perhaps I find it good sport to offer you…"

"I will not engage in such foolishness." T'Pril interrupted. "It is clear you are a coward. This is why you play the game you do. You fear engaging us even in our weakened condition because you know still there is a chance you may die."

Whatever it was on the ridge continued stalking forward, P'Trell sensed, seemingly focused on the men ahead. Probably because they were making so much noise. It was an animal of some sort then, predatory surely.

And Vulcan wildlife had a particular reputation…

"Are you a fool?" The man exploded. "I need not simply kill you, half-breed! I can make your death _welcome _before I am done!"

T'Pril shrugged mildly, unconcerned. "I fear neither death nor pain. And I do not fear cowards. Have you anything else to offer?"

The man was openly snarling now, growling in wrath. "Oh, yes." He seethed. "I have much to offer _you_…"

With that he stepped forward, intent on making good on this threat. The two men with him tensed up as well, preparing to fight…

"Wait!" P'Trell said suddenly. "This isn't necessary."

His voice trembled with apparent fear and he leapt to seize the attention the outburst had afforded him.

"Take the Captain." He said, pleadingly, gesturing at her and stepping away. "Leave the rest of us. We have nothing to do with any of this. We don't even know what you're talking about!"

The lead man stared for only a moment…then burst into laughter. Turning to share his mirth with his men, who chuckled in return…

Until P'Trell returned the borrowed blade, landing it with a solid 'snick' in the forehead of it's rightful owner.

The short moment of surprise might well have been followed by the remaining two men rushing forward to retaliate…if the _sehlat _on the ridge above had been foolish enough to let such a perfect opportunity slip by.

It was in the air, a sand-colored blur, slamming into the man P'Trell has just struck, ripping into his neck before he had even begun to fall.

* * *

_**Cheleb'khor**_

**Search and Rescue Shuttle: **_**Kehkuh**_

Sergeant Serahn viewed the scene from the shuttle door through the powered goggles he wore. From their present vantage point it required nearly full magnification to properly assess the situation. They were still several kilometers away, though closing as quickly as the pilot thought logical.

Logic which Serahn considered lacking at the moment.

The lost Starfleet crew had apparently all survived the crash of their shuttle, which was intriguing in itself. That they made it so far on foot through the Forge was perhaps even admirable. Most interesting at the moment however, they had chosen to attempt to lose their pursuers in the broken ground rather than fleeing more quickly through the open sand. Not at all what he would have expected from a Human crew. Perhaps the Captain's lesser Vulcan nature had proven beneficial in that regard. They had to all appearances responded to the situation logically enough.

But now the two Humans appeared to be dead or wounded, with the Andorian and the cloned half-breed facing their aggressors. It would seem confrontation had been unavoidable…

…and apparently a _sehlat _was now injecting itself into the proceedings. An extremely unusual situation indeed.

He tapped his goggles, returning to standard view and turned to his squad in the shuttle behind him. With a sharp gesture he directed Corporal Soviel to the door before signaling to the rest of the squad to prepare to rappel.

Soviel quickly snapped the safety lock from his rifle and extended the scope, moving fluidly into position at the door. Around him the remainder of his squad began attaching rappelling grips to their gloves, preparing to exit the shuttle once they'd come into range.

Through the scoped sight Soviel quickly assessed his targets…pausing only briefly at the surprising sight of a wild _sehlat _eviscerating one of the men in the distance…but the movement of the shuttle hampered his efforts to zero in, even with the aid of internal stabilizers. And the path of their flight carried his targets in and out of cover rapidly and randomly.

After measuring the situation for likelihood of success, he was forced to reject it. Snapping the safety lock back into place, he replaced the sniper rifle on the rack and retrieved the regrettably obsolete ballistic version. Without a word he joined his squad in preparing to rappel from the shuttle.

* * *

_**Cheleb'khor**_

**Vulcan**

Morales was growing tired. Hell, he passed 'tired' a while back and was stumbling right past 'worn the heck out'. He found it funny how thankful he was now for all those endurance drills. He'd have eaten sand a couple miles back otherwise. Didn't really make the hike any easier, of course. Just made him more accustomed to double-timing it well past the point where his body started begging him to stop abusing it.

Around him his squad panted and jogged along with him. He could spot signs of sunburn on the exposed portions of their faces but, beyond the utterly torturous fatigue beating down on them all, they seemed to be carrying on well enough. Ensign Schaffer was having real trouble keeping up and probably would have dropped out long ago if North had not proven tough enough both to hike and cajole him along.

Morales was tired, hurting and proud as hell of his squad.

God bless the MACO.

Of course he'd never be caught saying such a thing out loud. It was fine enough to ignore it when his men said something like that but officers weren't supposed to believe that kind of nonsense. Didn't exactly inspire confidence from the brass.

But he was sure that if there was a God, then He must love everything about the MACO.

Except maybe all the killing. Maybe not that so much.

But, then again…maybe sometimes. They'd killed a few people he'd bet God had been glad to see get what's coming to them. In fact…

"Major." Stetson panted behind him.

_Dammit. Focus, dumbass._

"Whatcha got, Corporal?" He asked, not wanting to turn his head for fear of stumbling in the sand.

"Five o', high." Stetson wheezed.

Morales stopped running long enough to check his five o'clock, behind him and skyward. He spotted the two shuttles, obviously flying just high enough to avoid the dampening field. Too far to make out details but surely their promised reinforcements…

They weren't heading their way, though. They were passing them outward…

"Dammit." He grunted, gasping for breath. "They're heading straight in." He turned and began jogging again.

Ahead of him now, Stetson furrowed his brow. "That's good, right?" He panted.

"Yeah, I guess." Morales chuffed. "I don't like…*_pant*_…not being there…!"

Stetson immediately started barking, finding the breath to do so from who knows where.

"Alright!" He ordered. "Stop dragging your asses! You want to miss the party, ladies? Quick time!"

* * *

T'Pril took advantage of the distraction, despite being completely taken by surprise herself. With the lead man busy expressing shock and horror at what was going only a few meters away, she stepped forward to sling West's tricorder at the other man's face, pivoting to deliver a solid kick to the leader's temple…

…and found his reaction exceeded her expectations. Clearly the result of practice honing his martial arts skill to some near instinctive level. Spinning quickly to the side, he deflected her kick up and away, throwing her off balance, just precisely before she connected. Almost without being fully aware he'd done so, from the look on his face.

She rolled forward into the fall, springing to her feet still a little off balance but at least out of his reach. But he was already moving to attack.

She suddenly lacked confidence in her ability to fend these men off for very long. Her martial arts training was hardly extensive.

"Go!" she shouted, hoping P'Trell would understand he meant _him_. She couldn't afford to take her eyes off her opponent.

She thought at first that he had disobeyed her. Someone at least suddenly slammed into the man facing her from the side and behind, knocking the prod from his hand and taking advantage of his distraction far more successfully than she had.

But there was a flash of blue to her right, near West. P'Trell was taking her up to flee, at least partly obeying her orders.

Which meant…

Rodriguez. Who was issuing a vicious, if weakly delivered, string of Spanish curses, already falling atop the man as he lay flat on his back. Driving a flurry of violent blows directly into his face, howling like a maniac the whole while.

T'Pril found herself, quite despite herself, exchanging a quick glance of astonishment with the man to her left…before he realized she was open to attack and moved to engage.

He at least proved no more skilled than she, as a quick slap deflected his lunging stab down and to one side, with a follow up backhanded fist to the face staggered him slightly. Enough that a quick step back and side kick to the chest drove him back still further to land on his back in the sand.

Right next to the _sehlat_, still violently tearing at his comrade. A fact which the instant terror in the man's eyes made note of.

T'Pril dropped into a ready _ponn-ifla _stance and waited. Enough with attacking, especially as that would bring her in range of the _sehlat _herself. Now let him come to her.

To her right the man who Marisa had already bloodied grasped her suit top, pulling her off center and to the side. With an angry roar he flexed and slung her long armed away to the other side, propelling her airborne into the rock wall nearby.

The man laying near the busy _sehlat _rolled away quickly, just as the beast expressed its displeasure with his proximity. It let out a piercing shriek and bared its fangs in an intimidating display of violent intent. The prey beneath it was well dead and it would seem it had decided to deal with the rest of those that had so foolishly failed to flee.

T'Pril decided to slide slowly back, maintaining a ready stance. Better to let the other man remain the next logical target for the beast's fury.

To her right Marisa was already on her feet, in time to meet the bloody man she'd attacked. She staggered a bit and was clearly weak but her fury was palpable to T'Pril even at that distance. She had tapped the last of her reserves, intent on venting her outrage against those who driven them all to this extreme.

Stepping forward, snarling, both fists before her in a classic boxer's stance, Marisa met the man with a trio of incredibly quick, sharp jabs to the face. Then leaning low to take advantage of his mildly stunned state, driving a vicious upper cut to the chin with all her remaining might.

The sickening 'crack' practically echoed through the ravine.

But he didn't fall. Nor stagger back. Though badly traumatized by the attack, he drove forward anyway, blind with rage, to slam one solid fist into her jaw.

Marisa's legs buckled instantly and she was on her knees before him, open to any number of instant kill strikes…

..but his attack had brought him close to T'Pril again, with his back to her. So she stepped forward fluidly, gathering force to stab one rigid hand directly into his kidney.

With a garbled scream he arced his back and staggered to the side, grasping vainly where he'd been struck. She didn't follow up, moving forward instead to grab Marisa's arm, who was already so dredged of strength that she hadn't even the will to fall over properly.

T'Pril went down on one knee, taking Marisa's arm in one hand and digging the other into her suit. With a twist, pouring all her effort into the throw, she rolled and forced Marisa up and to the side, away from the fight. Though she staggered away and slid forward into the sand as a result, she was at least clear of danger enough to take to her feet and flee unopposed.

If, as T'Pril fervently hoped, she were still able to.

Before she could recover herself and take to her feet again, fingers snatched into her hair, yanking her off her knees to sit in the sand, practically defenseless against the snarling man behind her.

Marisa at least, she noted, was stumbling away at last. She need only occupy her attackers long enough to cover her retreat…

* * *

Sergeant Serahn hit the ground, detached from the cord and rolled clear, all in one fluid, well practiced motion. Coming to his feet again he quickly surveyed his squad as they came down behind him, checking for any difficulties they may be having. Seeing none at a glance, he unlatched his rifle from the sling at his chest, snapped the safety free and shoved a magazine sharply into place.

In less than one minute the squad was down and preparing their personal gear. Serahn raised one hand to issue a sharp signal to the shuttle pilot above. _We are clear, begin aerial oversight_.

To the west, less than a fifty meters away, the Human MACO squad came into view. Dodging through the rocks on the edge of the nearby ravine, they hustled forward without pause. Serahn judged that they intended to enter the ravine through the most logical ingress point twenty meters to his left.

It was clear even from this distance that their long hike through the Forge had taken a severe toll on them.

For a moment, Serahn allowed himself the luxury of displeasure with his superiors for failing to aid them the Humans in planning their mission. Had details of the Forge's dampening field been made available, they would likely not have been forced to touchdown so far away from their crewmen. Perhaps they would even have interdicted already, long before the criminals stalking their comrades were able to catch them.

As the Humans jogged forward they began passing him without acknowledgement, still heading for the ravine. Serahn could smell their perspiration before they came close and could hear their ragged breathing, despite what appeared to be breathing aids attached to their faces. He scanned the men as they passed, looking for the MACO insignia denoting the rank of Major. Until he spotted the fourth man in the line, recognizing him as the officer mentioned in briefing.

"Major Morales." He reported. "I am Sergeant Serahn…"

"No time!" Morales barked. "Fall in!"

Serahn simply nodded. A logical course of action. He turned and signaled his men, who leapt immediately to merge with the MACO squad. The two units blended seamlessly, entering the ravine precisely where he would have otherwise suggested, had it been necessary.

Behind him, as they jumped and vaulted down the broken trail into the ravine, Private Ke'van expressed his uncertainty regarding the logic of his orders.

"_It would seem I am more often assigned the ammunition bundle than any other squad member." _He said, in Vulcan. "_I question the logic of this, as there are others more aptly suited to carrying significant weight for extended durations."_

"_If you require comfort, Private Ke'van, you must seek it elsewhere." _Serahn replied. _"I am not authorized to supply it."_

Serahn was mildly disturbed when one of the MACO ahead suddenly brayed with laughter for no apparent reason.

* * *

Rather than fight against the hold the man had on her hair, T'Pril struggled to get her feet under her. Just enough to _shove _awkwardly and force him to stumble back…into the waiting _sehlat_.

Who promptly swiped at his legs before given ground, hunching in preparation for a leap.

He screamed at the gash torn into one leg, letting go of her and diving away. T'Pril twisted as she fell back, landing on her side and throwing her head up to guage the _sehlat's _intentions.

The _sehlat _glared back, its eyes filled with frenzied wrath, crouched and fully prepared to pounce upon her.

And it surely intended to do so. It was in full rage from all the violence around it, she sensed. _Needing _to kill. Anything and everything in sight. Until there was nothing left to threaten it.

T'Pril, without thinking, reacting purely on some instinct unknown to her before now, reached out with her mind. Pouring all her rage into the assault, promising horror and destruction if the beast _dared _attack…violent thoughts that thoroughly appalled her…imaginations of all the sadistic evils she would inflict on the creature…

…and the sehlat flinched…staggering back, growling uncertainly…

…into the man behind it, who drove his blade deep into the beast's back with a terrified scream.

T'Pril was up and running before she was full aware of it. Unsure whether she fled the men who sought her life or the frightening thing she'd just done.

* * *

P'Trell continued doggedly forward, Ensign West laid across his back in what the Humans called a 'fireman's carry'. Whatever that meant exactly.

He despised fleeing the fight and most especially leaving a superior officer and fellow crewman to the mercies of their enemy. This was precisely the opposite of what a Security Chief should be doing now. But he found when faced with the violence of the situation that he had been unwilling to allow the enemy any chance at victory. Specifically the spoils of such. So he'd obeyed orders and snatched up everything of value to flee.

It was almost humorous, he mused. That this Human woman had become something of value to him. The thought of leaving her behind hadn't even occurred to him until now. She was so often insufferably stubborn and far more intelligent than he. Both dangerous traits in a female, he knew. And yet…

He'd been so careful to avoid attachments with lovers in the past, something so many other species, Humans especially, didn't seem to have any difficulty with. Largely why so many Andorians in the military routinely engaged in relations outside their species when deployed.

He was Andorian. And the particular level of attachment that this woman threatened would be irreversible for him. Precisely what he'd intended to avoid when he first acknowledged her interest.

And 'lovers'? He marveled at the thought. They hadn't so much as stroked one another yet. He hadn't even decided whether they ever would, for that matter. When had he begun seeing her that way?

The entire situation was beginning to irritate him. Something would obviously have to be done about this. Assuming she even survived this ridiculous mess. A thought which irritated him still further at the distress it provoked…

West, he suddenly realized, was awake. Slapping his back weakly, desperately trying to get his attention…Well, tough. If she can't run on her own then she'd have to suffer the indignity of being carried about. He wasn't about to bother arguing the matter…

Jennifer West, lacking any other alternative and too weak to explain, simply reached out and grabbed one antennae…_yanking _at it…

P'Trell immediately lost all sense of balance and twisted awkwardly mid-stride. They tumbled to the sand.

He was on his feet again instantly, furious and just beginning to loudly express as much. But the sight of her laying limp in the sand, unable even to move her head to face him, stopped him cold.

He satisfied himself with grumbling instead, stalking over and to pick her up again.

"No time for argument." He groused. "Stop behaving like a child and…"

"No…" She rasped weakly. "Galli…cite…"

P'Trell startled. _What? Where?_

Turning his head to search his surroundings, he almost didn't notice the tell-tale sparkle along one wall of the short canyon ahead. But he did, as well as the nearly hidden alcove beyond.

"How far does it reach?" He asked quickly.

But West could only stare dully, uncomprehending.

P'Trell snatched her up again, ignoring her feeble attempts to resist. Keeping tight to the opposing wall, he managed to bypass the Gallicite deposit without either of them being electrocuted. A quick dash over to drop West in the alcove and he was back again, crouching along the far wall. Waiting and hoping for T'Pril or Marisa to come along soon.

But suddenly well prepared if anyone else did.

* * *

T'Pril continued sprinting forward, spying Marisa only a dozen meters ahead. But her strength finally gave out. She stumbled and fell flat before she could reach her.

Laying with her face in the sand, she spent several moments catching her breath before swiftly forcing herself up again. She turned from pursuing Marisa and clamored up the side of a nearby mound of rock instead. There, still gasping for breath, she fumbled P'Trell's binoculars out and scanned the area behind her, peeking just over the lip of the rock.

The _sehlat _hadn't fallen from only that one blow, of course. It was up, furious and confused, stalking forward after the one who'd wounded it. He, in turn, was on his back, his blade in the sand out of reach, scrambling away in terror.

The second of the two men, the supposed leader, had his prod in hand again and lunged forward to jab at the beast. T'Pril watched, initially amazed at his utter foolishness…until the _sehlat _screamed in agony…

...and…disintegrated. Burning to ash in almost an instant.

T'Pril lowered the binoculars in surprise. _How was that possible? No powered device of any sort would operate in the Forge…_

But it didn't matter. The _sehlat _was dead and the two men would recover and pursue again soon.

She staggered down from the rock and began jogging after her crew.

* * *

Private Miles was the first to spot the small figure in the distance ahead, signaling to the others the moment he did.

Everyone, Human and Vulcan, slowed only slightly in their forward rush, bringing weapons to readiness. And when Miles noticed the Vulcan sniper beside him suddenly dash aside to brace his rifle on a nearby rock, he high-tailed it right alongside to do the same.

Through the rifle's simple glass scope he zeroed in on the Vulcan hostile in the distance. There was another just beyond as well, both in excess of 600 meters. As Miles steadied his aim, he noticed the one beyond stab at the bloody and broken body of a third Vulcan laying in the sand. Some kind of wand of some sort…which completely disintegrated the man's body. Instantly reducing it to a pile of ash and embers.

He couldn't fathom what manner of weapon could accomplish that, much less in a dampening field. But it probably explained the other strange mound of ash to one side...

Which he could only assume had once been the body of a _Vigilant _crewmen…

He depressed the trigger without a second thought, surprised when twin reports cracked through the air. Through his scope he witnessed green blood spraying from the far side of his target a moment later. Both he and the Vulcan sniper next to him had fired simultaneously, both striking true.

Their target fell dead to the sand immediately and Miles caught a vague glimpse of the rock beyond through two perfect holes in his back as he fell.

The remaining hostile jumped back in alarm. Realizing quickly what had occurred, he evaded, staying low and moving out of sight before either of them could get a bead on him.

"Go, go, go!" Morales shouted from up ahead. "Drop that son of a bitch!"

Everyone sprinted forward as a group, hard on one man's trail.

* * *

T'Pril staggered briskly forward, risking falling again with every stride but taking the risk in the interests of protecting her crew. Soon enough she spied P'Trell ahead, crouching along a side wall.

She made straight for him but staggered when she noticed him waving her frantically to the side. Assuming some threat she crouched low and hugged the wall as she moved to meet him.

"Around, this way." He said, he gestured vaguely to the side and toward the deep alcove. There West and Rodriguez sat in the shade, their backs against the wall.

She shook her head. "We must keep moving. They are coming…"

"Good." P'Trell said roughly.

At her inquisitive look, he smirked and pointed at the far wall. Looking that way, it took her a moment to realize the significance.

Gallicite.

Well, yes. That should work quite well. She nodded tiredly back at him and moved to rejoin the remaining crew. Taking care to angle her approach well clear of the deadly mineral.

Before she could reach them, two sharp cracks rang out from the far to the west.

T'Pril didn't bother wondering at the source of the sound. It was much too far away to be of concern for the moment. If it represented a threat, then it would have to get in line behind those they faced already.

When she reached the two she found West hunched over in pain, issuing barely audible instructions to Rodriguez through gritted teeth. T'Pril found herself amazed the woman was still alive, much less engaged in any enterprise at all in her condition.

Marisa was working busily with the phase pistol Jenny had carried all this while, the very one Rexas had handed her back at the Institute. What seemed a thousand years ago.

T'Pril allowed herself the indignity of practically collapsing alongside them. Neither seemed to mind. She gasped for breath while she passively observed Marisa's fumbling attempts to…she had no idea what…with the phase pistol.

"Red…" West muttered through the pain. "…tab…connect it…"

Marisa followed her instructions, forced to view her own progress at an odd angle. She lacked the strength to even lift her head from rest against the wall.

"What are you doing, ensign?" T'Pril inquired at last.

"_No sé_…" Marisa rasped back quietly.

T'Pril decided not to waste the effort pursuing the matter further just yet. P'Trell was moving to join them. Which meant their enemies were coming to kill them.

Jenny caught Marisa's eye and simply nodded. Then slumped to the side to focus on her agony.

P'Trell immediately wedged himself between the two women to support her, though there wasn't anything really that he could do. As Jenny whimpered weakly, her head in P'Trell's lap, Marisa simply closed her eyes and let the phase pistol fall from her hands to the sand.

T'Pril's eyes rested there…until she eventually realized what she was looking at.

The charging strip of the power cell had been extended somehow, beyond the pistol casing…and it was set to overload…

She blinked. Had West intended…?

Would that…_work_?

The shuffling sound in the ravine beyond suggested their pursuers were closing in again. From the angry grunting outside, T'Pril could only guess at the distance…but it eventually drew close to the gallicite deposit…

She waited, listening.

He was moving swiftly but limping from the injury the _sehlat's _claw had inflicted. She couldn't hear the second man, so she assumed he must be far behind…but, no. She recognized now the cracking sound she'd heard before in the distance and what that suggested. He was dead, then. And rescue was finally drawing near.

A gasp now, outside. A catch in breath.

He'd spotted the gallicite, recognized his danger…moving at a swift shuffle now to avoid the deposit…

T'Pril sat forward and took the phase pistol in hand…she waited a moment more…

Until the man outside drew alongside the mineral deposit…across the ravine, where he was safe from the discharge…

Leaning out, she threw the pistol over handed to land near the gallicite.

Loud sparking sounds. The man stumbling back in surprise…a growing, warning whine from the pistol…He began stumbling away, probably not understanding the threat but aware of one nonetheless…

A ground shaking explosion suddenly. Debris hurled with force in all directions, bits of hard rock ricocheting around the canyon…

Dust and smaller fragments settling in the aftermath…

Followed by a dull thump and groan…

* * *

Sergeant Serahn slid to a halt, raising one hand at the sound. The entire unit stopped in their tracks before the tremor had reached them, dislodging gravel from the surrounding canyon walls.

Morales spun around. "North, grenades." He barked. "Double quick!"

After a moment, with nothing more heard, Serahn flicked his hand sharply forward and everyone resumed their run. The MACO had drawn into a tight circle, sprinting with North, receiving propelled grenades from his pack and loading them in their launchers.

Morales drew alongside Serahn, breathing heavily.

"This is a problem." He panted.

"Indeed." Serahn replied simply.

* * *

T'Pril waited, listening to the sounds from outside. There was pain evident in the man's faltering breath. And he was attempting to crawl away.

When P'Trell moved to leave the alcove she stopped him quickly with one hand.

"Remain here." She said shortly. "I will go."

P'Trell shook his head. "You're in no shape…"

"You must tend to West." She said firmly, meeting his eyes.

He stared back stubbornly…but submitted after only a moment, confirming her suspicions in that regard.

She summoned her will and stepped out of the alcove.

Surveying the damage, she was admittedly surprised at how powerful the explosion had been. The gallicite deposit now littered the canyon floor almost entirely and clouds of dust still hung in the air.

Through it, she spotted the man…the Romulan…crawling away.

Sparks snapped around him occasionally from the gallicite gravel he lay upon, causing him to twitch before he could continue crawling. Green blood washed the sand and rock behind him, marking his passage. He had been inundated with fragmentation.

Through the dust T'Pril observed him coldly for a long moment, her face completely passive.

Then she moved forward.

The prod the man had carried lay in the dust nearby. She retrieved it, examining it closely as she walked leisurely after the dying man.

An injection system, apparently. Some chemical that caused the acute reaction she'd witnessed in the _sehlat_. A deadly weapon, certainly. But not specifically intended as such, she reasoned. This device was meant to destroy evidence. Physical, bodily evidence.

She lowered the prod from review, having approached the man at last. He was on his back now, propped against a rock, staring up at her. Soaked in blood, pale from all that he'd lost. Choking occasionally on it. But he waited for her.

She stared down at him again for a time, observing him. Committing the moment to memory. And then she spoke.

"This is the fate all your people face." She noted, indifferently.

The man chuckled, before choking for a moment. "You think…*_cough_*…think you can destroy us so? We have grown…*_cough_*…strong since the Sundering…"

T'Pril cocked her head curiously. "Why would that be necessary?" She gestured at the bloody scene before her. "You destroy yourselves."

"And we will destr…*_cough_*…destroy you before we are done!" He snarled.

She turned her attention to the prod again, examining it. There was at least another dose of the chemical left, she noted. Probably several more.

"My people are coming." She said. "MACO undoubtedly. If they arrive before you die, then you will certainly survive."

She turned her attention to him again.

"They will ensure it." She said evenly. "And you will be a prisoner, to be interrogated. Aggressively."

She waited a moment.

Then tossed the prod into his lap.

And walked away.


	12. Chapter 12 End

_**Cheleb'khor**_

**Vulcan**

Major Morales caught Serahn's sharp gesture toward the floor of the ravine. Another pile of ash, again vaguely man-shaped. Bits of cloth that had survived the strange combustion fluttered in the desert breeze but that was all that remained. Resting atop the ash was a long metal baton of some sort, capped with a short, thin spike. Slightly scorched itself from…whatever had happened…

He frowned. Completely unidentifiable. No way of telling _who _that was…

_Where the hell were his people…?_

A half dozen rifles snapping to bear got his attention and he found himself looking down his own sights at Captain Tucker before he realized it. She'd come out of nowhere…

She waited for a moment before speaking, giving him enough time to shift his aim respectfully away.

"I have injured personnel that require immediately medical attention..." She said quietly.

"Schaffer!" He yelled out behind him. "We've got wounded! Move it!"

He turned his attention back to the Captain. It was obvious she was shaken up or…_something_.

"Are you alright, Captain?" He asked, concerned.

That brought her attention abruptly into focus.

"I am fine." She said clearly. "Ensign West has suffered heat stroke and dehydration. Rodriguez, to a lesser degree."

He nodded. "Hostiles?"

"There were three." She reported. "One was slain by a _sehlat_. This is another." She gestured at the pile of ash at his feet.

Rico nodded. "We dropped one about a hundred meters back, Captain."

"So I gathered." She said simply.

Rico looked around, glowering. _Something _had exploded here…pretty dramatically, from the looks of it…_prior _to whoever this was here burning to ash for no apparent reason…

"What happened here, Captain?" He asked.

She stared back for a moment, as if he'd asked some impossible question. Morales suddenly wished he hadn't.

"Let us focus on the injured." She said at last. "This is our immediate concern."

_Right. Okay, then._

He turned aside to Serahn. "Sergeant, I understood you had Search and Rescue with you?"

The man nodded, then began issuing a series of hand signals skyward. The two shuttles that had been shadowing them in the distant sky suddenly darted into position high overhead, back down the ravine. Rappelling lines arced out, falling with a 'thump' less than fifty meters away, just a few seconds later.

Morales frowned, realizing the dampening field was a heck of a lot lower that he'd thought. It finally struck home that his team could have dropped right on top of the Starfleet crew all along, just as the Vulcans had dropped directly onto _their _path.

That was quite a long open rappel, of course…five hundred meters at least…but it certainly beat parachuting from high atmo and humping it all over the place.

_Well, damn_, he thought.

Ensign Schaffer staggered up, long since ran ragged and almost looking like he needed a medic himself. Captain Tucker stepped forward to escort him. They disappeared around an outcropping of rock, presumably to where the others were waiting.

Morales let out a sharp breath then. There wasn't much left to do until Search and Rescue started hiking people out of there…

"Alright." He said aloud. "Let's establish a perimeter. We may have more hostiles in the area and there have been _two _animal attacks already. No more surprises."

Corporal Stetson jumped in immediately. "North, ammo check! Simms, you've got the pack! The rest of you take position. Double up, both ends of the canyon and full cover north and south…"

"Aw, my feet ache something awful, Jimmy!" Someone joked from down the ravine.

"I can give you one of mine, right in your ass, Cole!" Stetson barked. "Get up that wall!"

Major Morales turned to the Vulcan squad leader. "Sergeant. If you want to coordinate…"

Serahn nodded, issuing a short hand signal that caused his men to leap into action yet again, flowing smoothly to match the MACO movement.

Rico was beginning to be impressed. He couldn't recall the Vulcan Sergeant having actually issued a verbal order to his squad all this time.

"If we're looking at heat stroke and dehydration, then I figure…half hour, tops." Morales continued. "Then we'll need to start hiking people out of here. Unless your Rescue teams are quicker than that?"

"I would estimate twenty minutes before they are prepared to begin evacuation." Serahn simply.

"And then we'll have a long hike out, with civilians on our backs." Rico nodded. "So that leaves us…"

"If you will excuse me, Major." Serahn said. "There is a hostel available, less than one half kilometer to the south. I recommend proceeding there."

_A hostel? Less than…?_

"Wait…what?" He said, startled. "Where?"

Serahn pointed south, at the short ridge just where the ravine closed in on itself.

"Immediately beyond the tallest point along that ridgeline." Serahn replied calmly.

Morales stared in that direction for a moment. Right. They'd been so busy trying to catch up with the Captain that he hadn't realized. They'd arced around right back to the border…

Rico glared at the ground then and sighed. Which meant…

"So the dampening field cuts out somewhere between here and there, I take it?" He said.

"I would estimate 200 to 250 meters south of our position." Serahn said passively.

Morales turned his glare back to the ridge line.

He was an officer of the MACO. He wasn't about to start acting out. He wasn't going to curse. Wasn't going to snatch his headgear off, toss it to the ground and start stomping on it…but he was sorely tempted…

"Son of a bitch!" Stetson suddenly exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?"

Serahn barely raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not."

* * *

**NX-35 Vigilant**

**Vulcan Orbit**

Commander McArthur stood up from the chair, turning to address the bridge crew. The worst seemed over and there was little more that could be done…but he was more concerned with using the opportunity to suss out if any of them had witnessed what he had.

The Captain, _their _Captain, tossing a downed man the very weapon he'd used to take his own life. Pretty obviously with exactly that intent in mind.

Overwatch had been rather high at the time, moving around trying to catch all the action…but he'd seen it. Surely someone else must have.

"Summers, get in touch with whoever's running Search and Rescue." He said. "I'm sure they already know the situation but do it anyway. Update Sulok while you're at it, so he can get ready."

Ensign Summers got to work, showing nothing more than relief that help had finally reached her fellow crewmen.

"Trindi, we're gonna keep overwatch on our people on the way out." He advised. "Reckon they've got a habit of getting in trouble, so let's not miss it."

Achilla chuckled mildly as she began working the Tactical station. Again clearly relieved the worst was over.

"Hsaio, I don't care what High Command says." He continued. "Nothing's keeping us from sending our own shuttle down for retrieval. Let's angle in for as short a run as possible, in case we can manage that. Get clearance through Comm' once you got it."

Helm got to work, plotting where exactly he could park the _Vigilant _to shorten the shuttle run as much he could. Nathan Hsaio was smiling, though. Nothing troubling him.

"Duvall, I'd sure like to know how the hell the Vulcans dropped their folk right on top of ours." McArthur glared suddenly. "And why _we _couldn't do that."

Geraldo blanched but he'd been upbeat before Henry came down on him.

"I…sir, there's no…" He began.

"Put it in your report, Ensign." Henry relented. "Can't muster a give-a-damn right now."

"Foster." He continued, nodding to Engineering. "I'm surprised nothing exploded or caught fire during all the excitement, seein' as how that's the usual. Reckon it's a good time to run that diagnostic I've been harpin' on you about."

Ensign Foster hesitated though, not wanting to meet his eye.

"Uh…yes, sir." He said. "Everything's green at the moment…"

"Matter of fact…" Henry interrupted, rubbing the side of his nose thoughtfully. "Come on to the ready room for a bit and let's go over somethin'."

Foster looked trapped for a second but moved to comply readily enough.

"Chilly, you got the chair." Henry nodded at her, already stalking the man.

* * *

Adam Foster stumbled to the side as Commander McArthur barreled through the hatch. Once it had shut behind him Henry turned to face him head on. Standing far too close for comfort.

"Somethin' troublin' you, Foster?" He demanded.

Adam stuttered in surprise. "Sir? I…sir?"

"See somethin' you ain't quite sure about?" Henry pressed.

He could only work his mouth soundlessly in confusion. He _sort of _knew what the Commander might mean...but…he wasn't…he didn't…

"Let me clear things up for you then, son." Henry rumbled, stepping forward to tower over him, forcing him back against the wall. Until he was face to face with the engineer, glaring down at him.

"The Captain and crew got themselves in a bad situation down there." He growled. "And they conducted themselves in a manner befitting the highest expectations of Starfleet. Are you with me so far?"

"Sir…I…" Foster stuttered.

"We're all damned proud of 'em." He continued. "As fine an example as one could hope to follow. Get me?"

Foster nodded meekly.

"And if I was to hear anything to the contrary…so much as a rumor to that effect…" Henry threatened. "Well, I'm sure I'd take it real personal."

Foster was utterly cowed.

"Might get plumb _mean _about it." Henry continued. "You ask around for an idea about that. There's folk on this ship that can illuminate you in great detail."

Foster couldn't even respond.

"I reckon if a body wanted me to take an interest in their discomfort…" Henry concluded. "Well, I guess castin' aspersions and undermin' morale around here would be a right proper way to go about it. You reading me, son?"

Foster gulped.

Henry glared menacingly down at the man for a long while.

"I'm waitin' for a 'yes, sir' outta you, Ensign." He grumbled.

"Yes, sir!" Foster squeaked.

"Outstanding." McArthur nodded. "You stand there and get your head unscrewed from your ass, then I'll see you back on the bridge."

Henry turned away and left the room, leaving Ensign Foster to slump in relief behind him…certain of little more than keeping his mouth firmly shut about…

Well, _whatever _it was he'd seen…and everything _else _he could think of. Just to be safe.

* * *

**_E'tum-mazhiv-kov _Hostel**

**_Tat'sahr _province, Vulcan**

Jenny opened her eyes. Slowly and carefully, having learned on some unconscious level that doing otherwise could often prove most unpleasant…

Her head didn't seem to be hurting, though. Which was a little surprising, really.

Blinking languidly, she examined her surroundings. She was drowsy still but cautious about moving her head for a better view…something else she'd grown wary of it seemed.

Light brown walls. Solid stone. A cool breeze blowing from somewhere, too steady to be natural. No windows but there was a dull orange light glowing behind her.

The surface she lay on would probably have been a little uncomfortable at any other time. A thin mattress or thick mat, maybe. Woven straw, or something similar. Right about now it might as well have been billows of silk and cloud.

It felt amazing.

She sighed, closing her eyes again. Those horrid cold packs the Vulcans had buried her in were gone at least. Which was nice. She hadn't enjoyed that very much…

Oh. Right.

She'd almost died. Again.

Wait…she _hadn't_, had she? _Almost_, right?

"Better be careful or P'Trell's going to trip over himself running in here again."

That was…Marisa. Somewhere to her right.

Jenny risked turned her head. Nothing above the neck objected especially…but her stomach suddenly cramped up.

"Ow!" She hissed, clutching at it.

_Well, that figures._

Marisa winced in empathy, propping herself up on a low bed of her own a few feet away. "Take it easy, _chica_." She advised.

"Wha' happ'n'…?" Jenny slurred. Which was a little embarrassing.

_Yeah, this was starting to suck already._

"Just relax. We're fine." Marisa soothed. "Rico and the boys got us out a while ago. We're at one of those hostels on the border."

Jenny relaxed a little, waiting for her stomach muscles to ease up on the assault.

"Everyone okay?" She asked, somewhat more clearly.

"Everyone's fine." Marisa assured her. "A little beat up…but fine."

_Beat up? _Jenny wondered vaguely. _Oh, yeah. She remembered something about a fight…_

A flash of blue from the left. And Jenny found herself surprisingly relieved all of a sudden. She might even have smiled, if she'd had time to.

P'Trell had swooped in, pushing lightly down on her shoulder.

"West." He said, gruffly. "Stop moving. Lay back and rest."

"I'm okay. Just…" Jenny assured, struggling to sit up.

"You're _not _okay." P'Trell snapped, pushing back firmly. "You nearly died and you're still dehydrated. Now, lay back and stop…"

"I'm _fine_, Rex." She argued. "Just a cramp…"

"_Because you need water!" _He said, raising his voice.

To her surprise. And irritation.

P'Trell grunted irritably himself. A little uncomfortable as well, perhaps.

Silence for a short moment.

"I'll get you some…" He said suddenly, turning away.

She sighed in frustration. "Wait…just…"

"Lie down!" He snapped, already moving through the door.

"Rex…!"

But he was gone.

Jenny slumped, frustrated. As much as she could slump in her position.

"Damn it." She groused.

Marisa, she realized, was laying back in her bed again, giggling quietly. Thoroughly pleased with it all.

Jenny glared at the ceiling. "Oh, shut up." She pouted.

* * *

T'Pril stepped aside as P'Trell charged by, intent on nothing more than securing water for West. And very probably wishing to focus on something other than his own behavior.

Having witnessed the short exchange it was obvious to her that the affection the Security Chief had developed for Ensign West was reciprocated. Which may require her administration at some point. Should the two intend to give heed to their attraction then they must be reminded of the strict boundaries imposed by Starfleet regulations. Reminded, specifically, that it would not be allowed to interfere with their duties in any way.

Or so much as come to anyone else's attention, for that matter. That both she and, apparently, Ensign Rodriguez were aware of it at all had already exceeded allowances.

Now was not an appropriate time for that, of course. All involved required rest and reduced levels of stress in the interests of recovery. In fact, affectionate behavior, taking into account the Human and Andorian natures involved, could prove therapeutic to them both.

If P'Trell managed to apply some maturity to the process, of course. What she'd witness did not appear to be a successful communication of affection.

But T'Pril found herself discomfited in some other way by what she'd just seen. Something she suspected it would be best not to examine too closely…

…but, too late. Simply acknowledging the emotion had afforded her insight into it. It would seem she'd had begun to yearn for such affection herself. With no family or anyone else with whom to appropriately accommodate such a thing…she was…perhaps…

She required meditation, obviously. Well overdue as a result of recent events. Hence most of the disturbing behavior she'd exhibited recently. She would go forward to convey interest in the health of her crewmen, as expected, and alleviate any concerns they may harbor regarding circumstances at the command level.

Then make use of whatever meditation room was available here…

One of the hostel stewards approached her. A relatively young woman to whom T'Pril had not yet been introduced.

"_Captain Tucker_." She said humbly. "_I am T'Sol. We have received a transmission from a Commander M'carfer, aboard your vessel_."

"_McArthur_." T'Pril corrected, patiently. "_What was the nature of the transmission?"_

"_He has elected to wait, asking to speak with you directly." _She replied. _"Additionally, our equipment allows only audio communication. Will this be sufficient?"_

She nodded. "_It should. If you will escort me, I will speak with him now_."

"_Very agreeable_." The girl nodded solemnly. "_You may follow me_."

**

* * *

**

Left to her own devices by the departure of the steward, T'Pril found herself suddenly dreading the conversation to come. And yet, at the same…

She stepped forward to depress the 'transmit' button, speaking into the air. "This is Captain Tucker. Go ahead, _Vigilant_."

"_Captain_." McArthur's voice. Speaking sternly, provoking an alarming tightness in her stomach. "_Good to hear from you."_

She suddenly found that she could divine no appropriate response to that. Unsure even if he was sincere...

"Yes…understood." She replied awkwardly.

She was significantly overdue for meditation.

"_I'm told our people are near about out of the woods_." He said. "_Glad to hear. How are you doing?"_

Something about the conversation wasn't sitting well with her already. Something in his voice…but she had no idea what. So she said the first thing that came to mind.

"I think 'out of the woods' not an especially appropriate turn of phrase for the situation." She reflected.

Henry's quiet laughter filled the air. "_I reckon not. I bet you'd have chewed a leg off for a proper shade tree down there."_

"Tempted perhaps…but, no." She replied.

A ridiculous thing to say, of course.

She required meditation.

"_Right, right." _He said. She imagined him nodding and smiling, humored. But there was still that subtle tone present that she could not yet identify.

"_Had you on overwatch most of the way_." He observed. "_Looked like a rough time. Can't imagine_."

She could think of nothing appropriate to say to that either...and found herself hoping for something…and yet dreadful…

This conversation had to end soon.

Meditation. Overdue. Needed it.

"_Of course, we had a peck of trouble ourselves." _McArthur continued, serious now. "_Damn near provoked an incident."_

That brought her attention to focus.

"What has occurred?" She asked, concerned.

"_Well…I didn't take kindly to the folks down there dragging their feet, so I steamrolled 'em a bit. Got the High Command riled up in the process. Damn near tangled with the Fleet out here before it was over."_

T'Pril was tempted to frown…

"_Starfleet hasn't weighed in yet but I imagine Admiral Archer'll be calling directly to express his disagreement. He's probably got a Minister or two giving him grief right about now_."

T'Pril began turning the matter over in her mind, assessing how best to deal with the political fallout Commander McArthur's tendency to aggressive negotiation had certainly…

But she couldn't think clearly. She was becoming overwhelmed...

"_Reckon you might have to take some disciplinary action when you get back." _He said, with some regret. "_Thought you might ought be prepared for that. I don't mind, of course. Just know you don't care for surprises, is all. Figured I'd give a heads up." _

This was suddenly too much. She must meditate. It was not logical to expect her to able to perform adequately as Captain at the moment. Not without proper meditation. At the least.

"Commander." She said, struggling for calm. "I...think this discussion would be better served…"

"_Not to mention we probably embarrassed Starfleet all to hell_." He continued, ignoring her. "_Skunking a simple retrieval and gettin' showed up by Vulcan Search and Rescue like that. Damned sorry business, I tell you what_."

T'Pril allowed herself to frown at last. There was no one to see her. That small indulgence seemed almost necessary at the moment.

He didn't understand. It was too much...

"_All of which I reckon is your fault_." Henry concluded.

She blinked.

So he was angry, then. Seeking a confrontation.

"_Yeah, I'm pretty damned sure of it_." He carried on. "_You stirred up one hell of mess all over the place, Captain. All for some Romulan gadget or other you couldn't be bothered informin' the rest of us about."_

T'Pril closed her eyes and gathered her resolve. Whatever she had hoped for, this certainly wasn't it.

Well, so be it…

"Commander,…" She began, speaking with authority at last.

"_Which, the way I figure it, puts me up a couple of points_." He said, confidently.

"…I am certain if you…" She continued, talking over _him _now…

Wait…

...what?

"_Don't see how you can argue it, Captain_." McArthur replied. "_One hell of a mess, you gotta admit_."

T'Pril ponder furiously for a moment. _'Two points'? _Was he seriously suggesting…?

He _must _be.

This was entirely inappropriate. Unacceptable.

"Commander McArthur." She asserted. "If you are referring to our game then I must reiterate my objections. The rules continue to lack delineation and there has been no formal agreement…"

"_Kinda the whole point of the thing, Captain_." He argued. "_Don't try backing out now, just 'cause you're down a couple points."_

"Hardly." She asserted. "I remain confident that I can meet your challenge. However, my objection stands. Without a logical, properly agreed upon…"

"_Yeah, that may fly on a Vulcan ship_." Henry denied, smugly. "_Which this ain't one. Don't embarrass yourself arguin', Captain. I got you nailed on this one._"

She started to object…but…

"Very well." She said at last. "I will concede you two points. But be advised, you will not retain them for long."

"_If you say so_." Henry replied, an obvious smirk in his voice.

T'Pril realized then that the tightness in her stomach had gone. Along with most of the oppressive sense of weight that had afflicted her for...longer than she could estimate.

She felt profoundly relieved. And grateful.

She stared at the transmitter for some time, carefully assessing the most appropriate response.

Until, at length…

"Thank you, Henry." She said solemnly.

"_Don't know what you're talking about."_ Henry denied. "_So I guess you'd better get yourself back to the ship soonest, Captain. Without stirrin' up any more trouble. Reckon you got some catchin' up to do."_

"I will endeavor to do so." She assured.

"_Good enough. See you then, Captain. Vigilant out_."

* * *

_And...that wraps it up, folks. _

_Hope you enjoyed. _

_- Mary_


End file.
